


Little Gallifrey

by Endelda, LicieOIC



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Cooking, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Smut, Food Critic, Food Porn, Friends to Lovers, Kitchen Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 07:14:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1735799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endelda/pseuds/Endelda, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LicieOIC/pseuds/LicieOIC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little Gallifrey is a popular London restaurant, owned and led by the Doctor, who runs front of house and creates all the recipes. Rose Tyler is a regular patron who has become more of a friend after all her visits, who puts up with the Doctor's whinging that his favorite food critic, Bad Wolf, has never come to his restaurant. Or, he *thinks* she hasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaborative piece between me and Endelda, and was a joy to write! I hope we collab again in the future.
> 
> One line was borrowed from the movie "Ratatouille." Also, our thanks go out to BlueDawn and LarxeneTheFirefly for their help with initial plot ideas!

The red brick building had stood on the corner since pretty much the beginning of time. Or, at least, that’s what the owners told everyone, since no one could find the original blueprints anymore. It was longer than it was wide, so it appeared smaller outside than it really was on the inside. An orange and white striped vinyl awning hung over the door and showcase windows. Above that was a wooden sign that spelled, in gold curling letters, _Little Gallifrey_. Bright yellow flowers made the window boxes look cheerful, drawing attention to the slogans displayed proudly on the glass: _You don’t have to be telepathic to know our food is good! Try the Lunch Special of Rassilon! You’ll love the lunch buffet - The Bottomless Schism! Kids eight and under eat free!_

At their stations in the kitchen stood Rory, a young man with short, sandy hair, aqua eyes, and a slightly prominent nose, and Lucy, a beautiful and slender blonde woman with dreamy blue eyes; Lucy making desserts while Rory made side dishes. Their movements were quick, but meticulous, because they knew nothing less than their best would do. Harry, a perpetually frowning man with neat, cinnamon hair and copper colored eyes, was at the main station, covering a massive, ancient-looking oven-stove combination that was an odd shade of royal blue. He cursed intermittently at the iron contraption as he made main dishes, almost as if he believed the inanimate object was listening and purposefully being difficult. Donna, a ginger woman with eyes like the sea that had a ring of gold at the center, stood at the pass, calling out orders as they came through and checking plates before they went out to Amy and Clara, the wait staff.

Amy, a willowy girl with hazel-green eyes and long, fiery hair, and Clara, a petite girl with dark, slightly wavy hair and eyes like a starless sky, were the best servers in London. Just the right combination of sweet and sassy, they were known for their accuracy, never bringing a dish to the wrong table. They knew the menu inside and out and could always make good recommendations. There was a bit of a friendly rivalry between the two girls as far as tips went, because Clara claimed Amy’s Scottish accent gave her an unfair advantage, but it was all in good fun.

Jack, the bartender who was tall, muscular, broad-shouldered, tan, and _gorgeous_ with violet-blue eyes and hair so dark it was nearly black, was also a licensed sommelier and always knew which wine would pair well with what flavors. He could convince someone who didn’t even like wine to try his suggestions and would convert them to a wine lover by the end of the night. He was always coming up with new cocktails, so there was a blackboard to the side of the bar where he could write up his new ‘inventions.’

And that left the Doctor at the front of house, so named for his sheer genius with food. He was a tall, skinny man with wild chestnut colored hair that looked effortlessly tousled and bright milk chocolate eyes, and he handled seating everyone who came in with a wide, charming smile. His well-fitted brown pinstriped suit was always immaculate, which made his well-worn trainers that may have once been white look incongruous. However, with the amount of time he spent on his feet, no one ever criticized his choice of footwear. He never seemed to run out of energy, bouncing on the tips of his toes as he escorted dining parties to their tables. Though he knew the menu by heart (he should, he’d written it), he would always whip out his reading glasses from his jacket pocket to look over someone’s shoulder and point out the specials. For some reason, the ladies (and some of the gentlemen) would always smile and blush when he did that. Well, whatever kept them coming back to eat, was his philosophy.

Little Gallifrey was his restaurant, his dream. He’d started out in a small restaurant in his hometown out in the back of beyond and saved every pound he made in order to have his own place someday. He’d worked his way up from the very bottom, bussing tables and washing plates, to being the head chef, creating his own dishes. That was right before he’d gone into business with Romana, an old school friend who now looked over the books and ordered their ingredients. He’d picked up friends here and there as he worked various restaurants, he had a nose for finding talented people who believed in his cooking. He’d offered them all jobs and the restaurant became popular right away. London loved the Doctor’s food. Sometimes he missed being in the kitchen, but he really enjoyed working the front of house. It was such an amazing feeling, to watch people enjoying the recipes he’d come up with. He felt like he had his finger on the pulse of the restaurant, something he wouldn’t have if he was stuck behind a stove.

As a whole, the restaurant lacked a bit of polish. The industrial carpet was grimy from messy patrons, and the fake ivy stapled to the wooden trellis on the walls was impossible to get entirely dust-free. The pictures on the walls were washed out generic prints of fruit and vegetables, in garish fake gold frames. The candles in the center of the tables dripped their wax over empty wine bottles, which added to the atmosphere, but came across as slightly sloppy, despite the fact that everything, from the tables to the plates, was always clean.

But the customers didn’t come for the ambience. They came for the food, which was always beyond brilliant.

On a sunny afternoon, the door opened on its squeaky, groany hinge that was as much a part of the place as the bricks. Rose Tyler, a curvy young blonde with eyes the color of dark topaz, shucked her pink hoodie as she walked up to the hosting station as she had nearly every day since Uni. A half smile quirked her lips as she realized the Doctor wasn’t beaming at her in his usual manic fashion. Something had to really be bothering him if he wasn’t giving his signature smile, but then, he knew he didn’t have to put up the facade with her anymore.

She’d been coming to Little Gallifrey for years, since she was still just a shop girl living with her mum and having to save for meals out that were anything fancier than chips. She’d met the Doctor back on one of her chip runs, they’d literally bumped into each other and her food had ended up all over the pavement. She’d given him an earful for spoiling her dinner, and he’d insisted he’d done her a favor, that she should never eat such sub-par food. He’d grabbed her hand and pulled her into the back of what would soon be his restaurant and proceeded to fry up some of the best chips Rose had ever eaten. She’d come back every day ever since, quickly becoming one of his regular (and she hoped one of his favorite) patrons. More than a patron, she hoped he considered her a friend, after two years of her eating at the restaurant. She’d enjoyed watching him bloom as a restaurant owner as the cafe became a more and more successful neighborhood staple.

She tapped a finger on the wooden hosting stand, seeking his attention. “What’s got our dander up, today?” she asked him, teasingly.

He looked up, his eyes brightening as he recognized her, but the frown stayed put on his lips. “Rose, look at this!” he said, not even bothering with the traditional ‘hello, welcome to Little Gallifrey’ she’d heard so many times. He shook the morning edition of the paper at her. “This is disgusting!”

She yanked her head back to avoid getting a faceful of newspaper and grabbed his wrist. “Oi, stop shaking it at me, I can’t read it with you flapping it in my face like that. What’s disgusting?”

“It’s Bad Wolf!” he said, his lower lip sticking out in a pout.

Rose rolled her eyes and let go of his wrist, no longer needing to see what had him so upset. “What about him? Did he say something about Little Gallifrey?”

“No! _She_ never does!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” said Rose, waving a hand to indicate he could stop while he was ahead, but as usual, he charged into his spiel about the popular food critic for at least the fiftieth time.

“I have no idea how you can argue with me on this,” he said, punctuating his statement by jabbing a finger at the newsprint. “All that passion and zest in the writing, that flair for description, talking not just about the way food tastes, but how it makes her _feel_ , and that hint of warmth and sweetness behind the pen - there’s just no way Bad Wolf is a man!”

Rose tried, unsuccessfully, to hide her smirk at his impassioned speech. He spoke of Bad Wolf as if they were a saint, a culinary god (or goddess, in this case). She reached across the podium and patted his cheek in a mocking fashion, “Aww, you’re so cute!” she chirped, “Look at you, with your crush on the big bad mysterious food critic!”

He jerked away from her, straightening up from where he’d been leaning on the podium. The tips of his ears pinked as he tried for a scowl, but the fact that he was still pouting a bit hampered his attempt. “I do _not_ have a crush! I have a-- a-- a healthy respect! For someone who appreciates the art of a good meal!” He nodded decisively, but Rose just shook her head. He waved the newspaper in the air again. “And she chooses to review _this_ garbage instead of Little Gallifrey? _Dalek-table_.” He spat out the name of the rival cafe with disgust. “An awful play on words for an awful restaurant!” He folded the paper messily and stashed it under the podium with short, jerky movements. “At least Bad Wolf agrees with me about the food there,” he added with a little grin. “She says they were ‘out to exterminate her taste buds!’” He quickly wiped the smile off his face as Rose gave him a knowing look. “Not that I memorized the article or anything! I just… have a very good memory!”

“Whatever you say, lover boy,” she said, grinning unrepentantly. “Now, may I please come in and order my lunch?”

“Oh, alright,” he groused, trying to hide a smile as he stepped out from behind the station and turned his gaze into the restaurant, grabbing a plastic-coated menu from the stack without even looking. “Let’s see… Will it be a table or the bar today?”

Rose pursed her lips for a second or two, considering. “The bar, I think, I haven’t had a good chat with Jack in a bit.” She side-eyed the Doctor as they walked in that direction, unable to resist another good tease, ”Besides, then I won’t have to look at the _monstrosities_ you call table linens.”

The Doctor’s mouth dropped open in affront. “Now, now, be fair! Red-and-orange check is original! No other restaurant in London is daring enough to try anything half so bold!”

She giggled. He was always so protective of his restaurant and she loved it. “Yeah, I wonder why that is?” she asked, sarcastically, as she slid into the seat she customarily took when eating at the bar.

“Well, there’s no need to be rude about it-- “ he started.

“Being rude is more _your_ strong suit anyhow,” she broke in, grinning at him with her tongue caught between her teeth.

“Hmph, well, I can tell when I’m not wanted,” he sniffed. “I’ll just leave you to your meal and the dubious charms of Jack, then, shall I?” He smoothly left the menu at her elbow, gave her a nod, and walked back toward the front of the restaurant.

Rose shook her head again as she turned to face the bar, smiling at Jack as he finished the drink he was pouring. He handed it off to Amy before sashaying over to her end of the bar. “Rosie!” he exclaimed. “Long time no see, beautiful!”

“Oh, shush, you,” Rose said, waving her hand at him. “You see me every day, and you know it.” Even so, she gave him a fond smile as he leaned toward her from his side of the bar with a wide grin. It wouldn’t be a trip to her favorite restaurant without a good flirt from Jack.

“Too true, but you don’t always sit over here where I can gaze upon you so freely!” He placed a hand over his heart dramatically and pretended to swoon, which made her giggle. “So, are you finally going to take me up on that drink?” he asked, only half-jokingly.

“Jack,” she started in a low warning tone, “we’ve discussed this…”

“I know, I know,” he interrupted with a good-natured nod. “We’re just friends.”

“That’s right.” She relaxed back into her customary grin, settling down in the cushy bar seating. “So, what’s on special for today? Other than your charming self, of course.”

“Well, other than _me_ , I guess the next best thing today is the Pythia Oyster Special,” he caught himself at her arched eyebrow, remembering her comment about slimy bogeys, and continued on, hurriedly, “or, um, the flank steak with steamed baby veggies and herbed butter on a bed of jasmine rice.”

“Can’t I get chips instead?” she asked, wistfully. “The menu’s gotten so upscale over the years, and don’t get me wrong - it’s all wonderful! Sometimes, though, a girl just wants something simple, ya know?”

Jack smiled warmly at her. “I’ve always said you were a woman after my own heart, Rosie. It’s just too bad you’re not after anything _else_ of mine!” He hopped back with a laugh as Rose leaned over the bar and scooped some lime wedges out of the garnish tray, tossing them at him and giggling. “Hey, hey!” he cried, holding up his hands to ineffectively block the projectiles. “I’m adding that to your bill!”

“Whatever! Stop attempting to be charming and go put my order in already! I’m starved!” she commanded with a mock glare as she dropped back into her seat.

Jack straightened up with a smart salute. “Yes, ma’am, right away, ma’am, flank steak with chips coming right up, ma’am!” he said, then jauntily swaggered off toward the kitchen. He was back moments later, tapping Rose’s hand as she reached back into the garnish tray for some cherries to eat. “So, I couldn’t help but overhear the Doctor griping at you about Bad Wolf’s new article,” he said in an undertone as he uncorked a fresh bottle of Rose’s favorite wine.

Rose made a face at him. “I think the whole block might have heard him,” she muttered, biting a cherry off of its stem.

“Ever gonna tell him?”

She shushed him, glancing over her shoulder, but no one else was nearby. The other patrons eating and talking covered their conversation. “You said you wouldn’t say anything,” she whispered.

Jack had helped her one night when her purse had fallen off the bar. Her notes from her latest critique were written all over the small pad he’d picked up. It hadn’t taken a genius for him to figure out that she was the Bad Wolf.

“I haven’t, and I won’t,” said Jack. He set the chilled white wine in front of her. “But that doesn’t mean _you_ shouldn’t tell him. He’s read your book, you know.”

Rose made another face at that comment and bit into another cherry. The book generated a lot of good income, but she hated when chefs treated it like the Bible of restauranteurism.

Jack continued to plead his case, “The man is tortured by the knowledge that his favorite food critic hasn’t ever stepped foot inside his restaurant. Or, he _thinks_ she hasn’t.”

Rose leaned her head back and groaned. “But Jack, I _need_ a place to eat where I can just be _me_. I’m so sick of having to micro-analyze every bite of food I put in my mouth. I just want to enjoy it, is that too much to ask? And as soon as a critique is published, you know what happens. The tourists _completely_ overrun whichever place I wrote about!It’s so commercial, and it _kills_ all the original charm, and I’m _so_ tired of it.” Jack crossed his arms and Rose sighed. “You know I love Little Gallifrey and I want it to be as successful as it can be, but the Doctor would treat me differently if he knew. And I would hate that most of all.”

Jack lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, _really?”_

She glared at him. “You know what I mean.”

He smirked. “Yes, I think I do.”

“Shut up.”

He closed his mouth, but noted the blush on Rose’s cheeks with not a little pleasure. Suddenly, there was the clatter of a metal pan hitting the kitchen floor, followed by a stream of muffled cursing.

Jack rolled his eyes as a woman’s voice joined in a moment later. “I’d better go play referee,” he said to Rose, who nodded.

“Check on my order while you’re in there,” she said as he walked around the bar.

“Ha, ha,” he said, without humor. He walked through the swinging door and put his hands on his hips, frowning at Donna and Harry, who were oblivious in the midst of their argument. “What’s going on in here?” he asked, lifting his voice above the shouting.

“It’s the bloody stove’s fault,” Harry was saying. “It does it on purpose! When it’s not burning me out of spite!” He said the last with a withering glare at the stove. The fire on the back grill flared, as if sticking out a fiery tongue at the man.

“It doesn’t matter if it was overcooked, undercooked, or bloody raw,” said Donna. “It’s inedible no matter what! That is literally the _worst_ dish I’ve ever tasted! You can’t serve that to our customers!”

“It’s about time I was able to create a dish around here,” Harry griped. _“I’m_ the head chef and none of my food is on the menu!”

“When your food is up to _my_ standards, it can go on the menu,” said the Doctor, who’d sidled in behind Jack. He tilted his head at the bartender. “Jack, go mind front of house for a moment, I’ll deal with this.” He waited until the other man had left the kitchen, then crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, tell me what this is about.”

Donna gestured to a plate of food on the pass. The Doctor easily recognized three filet mignon medallions with some sort of beige sauce. There was a single bite taken out of one of the rounds of steak, which he assumed had been Donna. There was also a saucepan on the floor, the same light colored sauce all over the tile. Rory was already grabbing the mop and bucket from the back, while trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.

The Doctor sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “And just what is this?” he asked tiredly, gesturing toward the unappealing looking plate and trying not to think about what might be in the sauce.

Harry stood tall with an arrogant look on his face. _“That_ is Steak a la Saxon, an heirloom recipe that’s been passed down in my family for generations!” He smirked at Donna. “I made a few improvements to the recipe, of course, modernized it a bit, and added some much needed pizzazz.”

Donna sneered right back. “If your family’s been eating that for generations, it’s no wonder you’ve turned out to be such a…” she curled her lip in derision as she looked him pointedly up and down, “specimen.” She tossed her ginger hair back over her shoulder, “In fact, I think the true miracle is that more than one generation survived eating that poisonous mess!”

Harry took a menacing step toward Donna, and the Doctor stepped between them, holding up a hand. “Wait, wait,” he said. The last time he’d let them have it out, Donna had sent Harry to A&E (though the Doctor suspected he’d been playing up the injury for sympathy). “Let me try it.”

He wanted to be charitable, after all, he never said he didn’t like something unless he tasted it first, but even the appearance of the dish was unappetising. Still, he gamely cut a piece of the steak, which was overdone and tough due to being cooked too long at too low a setting, scooped up some sauce and put it in his mouth.

Instantly, the sour, salty taste of the sauce overpowered the meat, which was difficult to chew. The sauce was lumpy, the butter having separated from the cream from being cooked at too high a heat. “What’s in this?” he asked, unable to determine the source of the salty flavor, even with his impressive taste buds.

“Caviar,” answered Harry, as if it should have been obvious.

The Doctor gagged as he swallowed the bite, praying his stomach would survive and not immediately reject the revolting morsel. “Caviar?” he repeated in a high pitched tone. “Are you mad?”

“That way you can charge fifty pounds per plate!” said Harry. It was plain he thought it was a brilliant plan.

“We can’t serve this,” the Doctor declared. “No one would eat this!”

Harry scoffed. “You’re just so hung up on your own food, you won’t even give me a shot! You can’t even recognize good food anymore if it’s not _your_ recipe! I’ll bet plenty of people would order it, it’s a high class dish! Might even bring some better clientele into the restaurant.”

The Doctor frowned. He didn’t like being accused this way, Harry was being unreasonable. “You think it’s just me and Donna, then, eh?” he asked. “A regular person would definitely eat this?”

Harry nodded. “Definitely.”

“All right.” The Doctor picked up the plate and discarded the meat that he and Donna had cut into, leaving the one untouched round piece. “Come on, let’s get an opinion from someone who really knows our food and is a _regular_ person.”

He carried the plate out into the dining room and headed for the bar, where Rose still sat, popping maraschino cherries into her mouth. “Hello again!” he said, a little too brightly to cover his nerves. “I’ve brought your lunch!” He slid the plate in front of her, then reached under the bar to get her a set of flatware and a serviette.

Rose looked at the Doctor, Harry, and Donna, then down at the… meal… in dismay. “This is definitely _not_ what I ordered,” she said, shaking her head emphatically. “In fact, I’m not even sure what this _is.”_ The scent wafting up from the plate was making her lean away as unobtrusively as possible as she gave the Doctor a confused look.

The Doctor sighed deeply. “I know, Rose, believe me, I know, but would you do us a favor and give it a taste? The kitchen is insisting that I have a ‘regular person’ render an opinion.” He jerked his head back over his shoulder, indicating Harry.

Rose looked beyond the irritated cook and saw the curious faces of Rory, Amy, Clara, and Lucy, all crammed together and peering at them from the window in the swinging door to the kitchen. Rose blinked at the tableau in the window, then at Donna and Harry standing behind the Doctor, giving her expectant looks. She was fairly certain who was demanding the ‘taste test.’ With a little sigh, she cut a small piece of the steak, noting that it was gray from being overcooked, not a hint of pink, and tried it with the sauce.

She gave it all of two chews before spitting it out onto the plate, making a nauseated face. Harry looked aghast.

“What horrid manners!” he snapped.

The Doctor glared at him for making such a remark to Rose, a patron. “She can act however she likes!” he said, but Rose held up a hand, not cowed at all.

“Doctor, please,” she said, calmly, before turning a cold stare on Harry. Stiffly, she told him, “I love food. And if I don’t love it, I don’t swallow.”

From behind her at the hosting podium, Jack snorted, loudly. Rose knew the line was from a popular kids’ film, but it had taken Jack’s reaction for her to, belatedly, realize exactly how what she’d said could be construed. She chanced a glance up at the Doctor, whose face had gone red to the tips of his ears. He cleared his throat and picked up the plate, shoving it at Harry.

“I think you have your answer. Better luck next time, mate.” He made to move away from the bar, but Harry grabbed him by the sleeve of his jacket.

“No!” Harry insisted. He looked back at Rose, challenge in his eyes. “I want to know what she really thinks! What an unsophisticated palate can tell me.”

She glared at the glorified fry cook. Unsophisticated? Ha! “For starters, the sauce overpowers the flavor of the steak, if there _was_ any flavor to be had, you’ve cooked it to death! It’s practically shoe leather! Second, the sauce is separated. It’s lumpy, gritty, and just generally unappealing. Third, what did you do, upend the salt shaker? Please don’t tell me you put caviar in a white sauce--”

She sucked in a breath as she looked from Harry to the Doctor and back. Confusion was written large on their faces and no wonder. Plain Rose Tyler shouldn’t know all those things about food! “Um…” She sniffed and regretted it, because she caught the smell of the dish again. “It just seems… you know… gross and stuff. Salty. Like the ocean. So, fish eggs makes sense, right? That’s caviar, yeah?” She cleared her throat, awkwardly. “And anyway, eating lunch shouldn’t remind me that something’s died.”

“Well, that’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard,” Harry muttered as he started back toward the kitchen. “Unless you’re a vegan, then practically _everything_ you eat is something that’s died…”

It was clear he’d dismissed her opinion already and Rose inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Donna patted the Doctor on the back and followed after Harry. The peanut gallery at the window had already dispersed.

The Doctor stayed at the bar, looking speculatively at Rose. “You really know a lot about this,” he said.

She laughed, maybe a little too loudly. “Oh, no, it’s just… I’m here all the time. You should start paying me a wage, I’m really learning from you!”

He scoffed, but smiled. “I’m sorry about this. Really, I am so sorry. But Harry was insisting and I couldn’t have someone else thinking that this was our regular level of service! I knew you’d understand.” He gave her a warm smile and placed a hand over hers.

Rose’s breath caught in her throat. Had he ever looked at her so sweetly before, with such gratitude? How had she never seen the flecks of gold in his dark eyes? She looked down at their hands, admiring his long fingers, his smooth, warm skin, the slight calluses on his fingertips from burning himself on a hot pan. She tingled where he was touching her, and it was just her _hand!_ Something silken curled low in her belly, easily pushing away all thoughts of hunger. Well… for food, anyway.

“I think you should make it up to me,” she said, her voice slightly hoarse. She cleared her throat, giving him her usual smile, but it still felt like her normal teasing had taken a decidedly flirty turn. “I think my tongue might be traumatized.”

“Well, I definitely wouldn’t want anything to happen to your… tongue…” He realized that he was staring at her mouth and straightened up, blinking rapidly as he pulled his hand away. At once, he missed the feel of her hand in his. He rubbed his fingertips together, distractedly.

“Why don’t _you_ cook for me?” she said, suddenly.

He goggled at her. “Me?”

“Yeah,” she said, warming to the idea. “I miss your cooking. Your chips were the first thing I ever ate here.”

He smiled nostalgically. “How could I ever forget. But then, if I was stuck in the kitchen, we’d never have all of our lovely conversations.”

“Can’t have that. Our talks are half the reason I keep coming back here.”

“Really?” he asked, looking pleased.

She ducked her head, tucking a strand of her hair behind one ear. “Well, yeah. I’d like to think we’re sort of… friends now. Aren’t we?” That electrifying touch they’d shared was seared on Rose’s mind. She tried to push those thoughts away. Surely, that sort of thing could happen just between friends… right?

“Yeah,” he said, his voice gone a bit soft. “I mean, I’d like that, too.” He clapped his hands together, startling her. “All right, I will. I’ll cook for you. Give me some time and I’ll prepare a special menu, just for you. And today’s lunch is on the house. Least I can do for that travesty of a dish.”

She grinned. “Careful, Doctor, don’t want the other patrons to think you’re showing favoritism.”

“Oh, let them. You _are_ my favorite… patron.” He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck, then pulled on his ear. “Erm… Sunday night? After closing?”

“Sounds perfect. I can’t wait to see what you come up with for me.” And she truly meant that. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d so looked forward to a meal.

“Me either!” he said, laughing a bit. “Could just make it up as I go along!”

“No, that could be disastrous!” she said, laughing a bit with him.

“Oh, but I do it so brilliantly!” he insisted, grinning at her. His eyes strayed to the bar top, where he saw a neat little row of cherry stems tied into knots lined up next to Rose’s wine glass. His throat worked as he swallowed, hard. He retreated, aiming a thumb at the hosting podium. “Anyway! I’d better… get back to it. Let Jack tend the bar.”

“Right, yeah,” said Rose, nodding, wondering what could have made him blush again.


	2. Chapter 2

Rose sat down on the park bench the next day, setting a brown paper bag next to her purse. With a slight sigh, she rummaged through the sack and took out a crisp green apple, taking a big bite of the tart fruit. Although she usually ate lunch at Little Gallifrey, Rose felt the need to take a break after her conversation with the Doctor yesterday.

She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the way it had felt when he’d taken her hand, or how cute he’d been when he blushed, with his freckles standing out against the pink flushed skin. She’d always been aware that he was an attractive man, of course, it was hard to miss, but it had been in a more intellectual sense. She’d never really thought about being attracted _to_ him before, but now she was having trouble thinking about anything else.

Not that he would ever think about _her_ that way. To him, she was just a patron, maybe a friend, but no where near the level of importance he placed on Bad Wolf. Rose scowled. It felt like she was suddenly in competition with _herself_! And he had no idea. Probably all the more reason why she should never say anything about who she really was. It would probably come across as the worst sort of betrayal.

Uttering a soft groan of frustration, she took another bite of her apple and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She had to stop thinking about this and get some work done. She pulled her notepad out of her purse to look over what she’d written about the dinner she’d had the night before at Torchwood Tower, a dinette near Canary Wharf. She pursed her lips, her pen poised over the paper, as she thought about what to say.

“ _Although their menu is pleasing to the eye, the discerning diner will perhaps find room to doubt their slogan of ‘If it’s good, it’s ours,’ proudly emblazoned along with their distinctive logo on everything from the plastic menus, to the serviettes, to the barware_ ,” she wrote thoughtfully. “ _With a menu that seems almost too ambitious, they haven’t quite managed to find their stride among the dizzying variety available. Featuring everything from quaint historical dishes to more modern cultural fusion offerings, their determination to present the best of British cuisine unfortunately falls prey to their desire to mercilessly upgrade their speed of service and the food gets a little lost as a result_.”

She leaned back against the bench and nibbled thoughtfully at the end of her pen, her brow furrowing for a few moments before she leaned back over the notepad. “ _While the chicken vindaloo that I ordered was well presented, unfortunately it was clear that it had been prepared somewhere off-site (perhaps in another universe) and then microwaved nigh unto death before making its escape from the kitchens. The sauce was a featureless melange, with all of the expected heat (and then some), but little to none of the subtle, savoury spiciness most would consider essential to the dish. The chicken itself was flavorless and overdone, the meat turning to sawdust as I chewed. Yet somehow, it still managed to be overpowering, as though it had started out as some other dish entirely and the ghost of the previous meal was trying to assert itself on my tongue_.”

Her nose wrinkled at the memory of the aftertaste of the chicken, and she took another bite of her apple in an effort to clear the taste from her mind.

“ _Overall, I’d say they should concentrate on their quality at this stage. Perhaps, if speed is their issue, they need someone new in charge of their kitchen. Chef Yvonne Hartman definitely left something to be desired, in my opinion._ ”

Her mobile chirped, startling Rose out of her thoughts. She reached into her purse and retrieved her pink phone, swiping her thumb across the screen to read her new text.

**It’s Jack. Where are you?**

Rose blinked. Jack? From Little Gallifrey? **How did you get this number?** she typed in.

**I called the newspaper. Charmed your editor into giving it to me. ;)**

She sighed. She’d have to have a talk with Sarah Jane about this. Not that she was too surprised, Jack could charm the pants off the Pope and get him to autograph them while he was at it. **I’m having lunch in the park. What do you want?**

**Lunch in the park? Why aren’t you here? The Doctor is stomping around like someone kicked his favorite puppy.**

Rose smirked a little at the visual. **What does that have to do with me?**

**Oh, Rosie. I think you know. ;)**

What was that supposed to mean? And what was up with those obnoxious little winky faces, like he was sharing an inside joke? **I believe you must have me confused with a certain anonymous food critic. It has nothing to do with *me.***

**C’mon, Rosie, don’t be like that, you know what I mean. :(**

She scrunched her eyes closed, heaving a deep sigh of exasperation. She then glowered at the phone for a few moments before tensely jabbing her finger at the screen. **I know what you *think* you mean, but you’re wrong. Stop making trouble where there is none. >:(**

**Fine, fine, I’m sorry. You should come over though, no one else can soothe the ‘oncoming storm’ as well as you.**

Rose grumbled to herself briefly about overbearing bartenders overstepping the boundaries of friendship before she replied, **Okay, I’ll be there soon. He’s probably just turning himself into a little thundercloud because his Secret Goddess still hasn’t reviewed his place. Don’t know what I’m supposed to say to him about that.**

**I think you know *exactly* what you could say about that. But far be it from me to tell you what to do.**

**> :( Shut up! You tell me what to do all the time and you know it! On that note, I’ll be there soon.**

Rose grabbed her paper bag and purse, chucked her half eaten apple into a nearby bin, and headed for Little Gallifrey. She couldn’t believe she was allowing Jack to manipulate her this way, but she had to admit, she wasn’t fond of the image of the Doctor being upset if she could help him in some way.

It was nearly 4pm when she reached the restaurant, so there weren’t many patrons, it being well after the lunch hour and too early for the dinner rush. The Doctor was over by the kitchen door, instead of at his podium when she arrived.

“You know you have to check the temperature between dishes!” he was saying, nearly shouting into the kitchen. “Now, cook it again!” He stalked back over to the front of the house, grumbling about temperamental blue stoves and equally temperamental cooks. He halted in his tracks as he saw Rose waiting near his station, his eyes blinking widely as though she might have been some kind of hallucination. “Rose,” he said, his voice softening. He hurried the rest of the way to the podium, a smile hovering over the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t think you were coming by today.”

She couldn’t help but smile at his uncertain tone. She twirled her earring with one hand, glancing at the floor. “I, um…” She held up the brown paper bag in answer.

His jaw dropped. “A paper bag lunch!? Must you hurt me this way? You know better!” He grabbed the sack from her hands before she could protest and opened it. “What’s this?” he asked, pulling out the sandwich she’d wrapped in plastic. “Peanut butter and jam? Are we five?” He opened the plastic wrap and took a bite. “This is--” He paused, chewing thoughtfully. “This is…” He looked at the sandwich in his hand and took another bite, his brow furrowing in confusion. “This isn’t bad. In fact, it’s rather good.”

Rose scoffed. “I _think_ that’s a compliment.”

“No, really,” he said, “what’s in this?” He smacked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, not giving her a chance to answer. “Are there… pecans in this peanut butter?”

“Yep,” she said, with a little smile. “It’s from the organic food store across town. A tiny little place in Ireland makes it.”

“That’s brilliant.” He took another bite, utterly unconcerned that he was eating her lunch. “And this jam…” He chewed slowly. “I’m getting… strawberry… raspberries… and…” He frowned. “What’s the third one?”

“Boysenberry.”

“What-berry?”

She giggled. “It’s from California, in the States. Developed by Arthur Boysen.”

He hummed around another bite of her sandwich. “The bread’s good, too, no store bought bread, this. Did you make it?”

“My mum did,” said Rose, grinning as she watched him eat. “Sometimes she gets these new recipes and spends days just baking and perfecting them. Her neighbors and I reap the benefits because she can’t eat it all by herself.”

“Well, tell your mum that I am impressed. _Me_. That’s saying something.” He licked his thumb and first finger, then looked at her wide grin. “What?”

She looked significantly at the paper bag, then back at him.

“What?” he asked, again.

She lifted her eyebrows, as though she couldn’t believe he actually needed her to spell it out for him.

“Seriously, _what_?” he asked, a bit irritated now.

She cleared her throat and took the bag back, upending it to show that it was empty. His face fell.

“Ohhh.” He winced and pulled at his ear. “I just ate your lunch, didn’t I?”

“Yep.”

“I owe you lunch again.”

“Yes, you do. Though, this would probably be considered closer to dinnertime.”

“Hmm, well, yes, I suppose it would.” He rubbed at the back of his neck as his gaze shot up toward the ceiling in thought. “I’m already cooking you a make up dinner on Sunday, when would you like this one?”

“Oh, are you offering to cook this one, too?” she teased, shifting her weight onto one foot as she pivoted toward him at the hip, leaning into his personal space just a touch.

“Oh! I, um… well, I suppose I _could_ if you really wanted me to…” he trailed off, suddenly feeling embarrassed and not quite sure just why. After all, this was _Rose_! It wasn’t as though he had anything to prove, or any sudden inexplicable desire to show off for her, or… er… anything. After all, they’d been friends for years! Best friends! _Just_ friends. He was uncomfortable with how depressing he suddenly found that thought to be.

Noticing his sudden unusual discomfort, Rose decided that he’d wriggled long enough. It was time to let him slip off the hook just a bit. “Nah, since you’ve already promised to make something special for me, how about we go for chips?” She grinned at him mischievously. “I’ll pick the place, but _you_ have to pay.”

He stared at her. “You want to go to a chippie. You want to make _me_ go to a chippie. You must really want to torture me. All for eating your sandwich.”

“It was a good sandwich, Doctor.”

“Oh, bugger.” He breathed out hard through his nose, giving her a stern look. “All right, but I have to be back before the dinner rush!”

Rose glanced at her watch. “We’d better hurry!”

“Well, then, Rose Tyler, no dawdling!” He grabbed her hand, calling over his shoulder for Amy to watch the front. “Allons-y!”

They made it half a block before he realized he didn’t know where they were going. He slowed and let Rose catch up alongside him, then swept his free arm forward in a mock-courtly gesture. “After you, my lady! Lead on to this ‘fabulous’ _chippie_ you’re determined that I shall endure!” He tried not to think about how reluctant he was to let go of her hand.

Rose grinned up at him, her cheeks pink from the brisk afternoon air. “This way!” she said, leading him across the street and around a corner, then down a few more blocks and another turn or two. “The best chippie in London!” She pointed across the street to a little place painted a shiny light blue with a sign on the glass door that read ‘New Earth’ inside a green crescent moon.

“Ooh, I’ve heard of this place!” the Doctor enthused, bouncing on his toes as they waited for the light to change. “Bad Wolf reviewed it a year or so ago! She said it was--”

“--the smell of fresh baked apple chips that won me over instantly,” Rose quoted along with him with a grin.

He looked down at her with a surprised smile. “You read it?” he asked, delightedly. He squeezed her hand lightly as he tugged to swing their arms back and forth.

She giggled nervously. “Um, ‘course I did, ‘s your favorite food writer, how could I not?” She was horrified to feel that she was blushing and quickly turned to face the zebra crossing. “C’mon, the light’s changed. Let’s go! I’m starving!” She dashed out into the crossing, pulling at his hand and dragging him along in her wake.

New Earth was so named because they used all natural ingredients and tried new things that other chippies didn’t. The apple chips were just one example, but it was one of the best ‘healthy’ desserts Rose had ever tried. The seating inside was of all recycled plastic and other renewable products. Other reviewers had called the place ‘hipster,’ but Rose thought it was unique and environmentally responsible while still being true to the flavors of the food.

She ordered a basket each of the potato chips and the apple, then turned to the Doctor expectantly. His smile gradually faded as he patted each one of his pockets in turn and only came up with his specs and a silver pen. He grimaced, realizing that he always left the contents of his pockets in his locker at the restaurant, not wanting any unsightly bulges to mar the lines of his suit.

“Um…” He pressed his lips together helplessly, giving his best puppydog expression. “This may be a bad time to mention…”

She covered her eyes with one hand. “You forgot your wallet.” Dropping her hand, she reached into her purse for her credit card, which she handed to the man behind the counter, then shook her head at the Doctor. “You are impossible, you know that? All right, cheap date, chips are on me, but this Sunday dinner better be _extra_ special!” The man handed her card back to her and she tucked it away.

He grinned at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling in glee. “Oh ho, a cheap _date_ , am I? Rose Tyler, you sneaky minx!” He was trying not to let himself be too distracted by the warmth that suddenly suffused him at her choice of words, calling their outing a ‘date.’ After all, she was just teasing, as friends will do, and there was no reason to get worked up over what was likely nothing… Not that he was looking for reasons to get worked up over Rose. “I see your plan now… What an elaborate way to get me alone!” He waggled his eyebrows at her in an exaggerated fashion, making her double over in giggles.

“Oi, hark at you!” she gasped between giggles as they walked away from the counter and slid into a booth. “You think you’re so impressive!” She clutched at her stomach as she nearly convulsed with laughter at his sudden affronted look.

“I’ll have you know that I’m _very_ impressive!” he sputtered, trying not to be offended. “It’s hardly my fault that my accomplishments have gone unlauded!” He slumped slightly in his seat, trying not to let his good mood get away from him.

She sighed, her mirth finally under control. “Still on about Bad Wolf, then.”

“Of course!”

“Doctor, did it ever occur to you that maybe Bad Wolf thinks your restaurant doesn’t need their praise? That your food speaks for itself?”

“Well, that might be nice, if it wasn’t just speculation.” He crossed his arms, unaware that he was pouting. “It isn’t about the added business, Rose, although that would be a plus. Little Gallifrey is doing well on its own, Romana says we’re consistently in the black.” He put his hands on the table, fidgeting with the fork in front of him. “Haven’t you ever wanted to hear ‘well done’ from someone you respect highly?”

“Of course,” she said, shifting in her seat uncomfortably.

“That’s what a review from Bad Wolf would be like for me,” he said. “I feel like…” He breathed a sigh, looking at the ceiling and touching the tip of his tongue to the roof of his mouth as he thought about how to articulate his point. “She really _gets_ food, you know? I feel like… she would really get _me_.”

Rose frowned. “So, a regular old person wouldn’t possibly understand you, is that it?”

He lowered his eyebrows at her snappish tone. “Well, no, that isn’t what I meant--”

“What did you mean, then?”

“Why are you so upset?”

She looked away. “I’m not,” she denied instantly, though he didn’t look like he believed her. She paused, biting her lip. “Does it really mean that much to you?”

He thought for a moment. “Well, that’s not the only thing that’s important to me.” He stared fixedly at the fork that he was still fidgeting with. “I also value _your_ opinion quite… um… highly.”

She swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat. “Yeah?”

“Of course, Rose, you’ve been my best friend! Your good opinion means the world to me!” He didn’t notice as her shoulders drooped slightly at his words, he was too caught up in what he was trying to say. “It’s just that some professional validation would also be nice.”

She was saved from having to answer that by the arrival of their food. The next few minutes were dedicated to separating the chips between them so that they each could garnish them how they liked. Rose liked her apple chips with a bit more cinnamon than the Doctor cared for, he liked to be able to ‘taste the apple,’ and he declared her chips utterly ruined from the amount of vinegar she poured.

“It’s a childhood thing,” she explained. “Mum always used a ton of vinegar, now I can’t have them any other way.”

He furrowed his brow, popping a chip into his mouth. “Your mum who made the fantastic bread? That doesn’t sound like her.”

“Well, she wasn’t always a great cook,” said Rose, spearing some chips on the end of her fork. “She barely managed shepherd’s pie and nut loaf for years when I was growing up. But when I was still little, my dad died in a car accident…”

The Doctor’s expression crumpled. “I’m so sorry,” he said, reaching out to take her free hand.

She offered him a sad smile. “Thanks,” she said, squeezing his hand. When he didn’t let go, she was content to let him hold onto it as she continued. “Mum turned to new recipes to distract herself from her grief. She just gradually got better and discovered she really liked it. She took a few cooking classes, it turned out to be therapeutic for her. I was glad she’d found something that made her happy again.”

He stared at the basket of apple chips for a long moment, not saying anything. “I cooked, too. When my parents died.”

The chip in her mouth suddenly lost all flavor. Aside from the restaurant and all it entailed, the Doctor had never offered up such personal information before. “What?”

“My parents died in a fire when I was young,” he said, his voice low, fiercely controlled. “So, I know… how it feels.”

“Oh, Doctor…” she said, stroking the side of his hand with her thumb. “I had no idea.”

He kept his gaze on his chips, but he wasn’t really seeing them. His mind was far away. “When I left Gallifrey, I got rid of practically everything I had, I didn’t want the memories.” He shook his head. “But I couldn’t forget the food. My mum and dad’s cooking stayed with me. So, I started the restaurant to honor them. It’s why I called it that… After a little town in the back of beyond that no one’s ever heard of.”

“I’ll admit, I looked it up online,” said Rose.

He glanced at her then. “You did?”

She nodded. “I was curious. And you always changed the subject when I asked.”

“It’s not something I really talk about.” He took a deep breath and sat up straight, releasing her hand to bring both of his to his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms against them briefly. “Sorry,” he said, briskly, opening his eyes wide, but she noted they were still a bit glassy. “Haven’t-- haven’t really talked about them for… oh, ages. Got to me a bit.”

“Doctor, of course it got to you,” she said, seriously. “They’re your parents. They don’t stop being that, ever.”

“Yeah, but… Well, I didn’t mean to bring down our dinner,” he said. He toyed with another chip, but didn’t really feel hungry anymore.

“You didn’t,” she insisted. “And I know you probably don’t want sympathy, God knows I couldn’t stand it, but…” She pursed her lips, but then bravely continued on. “We’re mates, Doctor. And if you ever need someone to talk to who gets it, well… I’m here. Okay? That’s what mates are for.”

He looked at her for a long time, his dark eyes unreadable, before a small smile returned to his lips. “Thank you, Rose,” he said. “That-- that means a lot.”

She smiled at him gently as she leaned back in her seat. “You’re welcome, Doctor.” Deciding that the somber mood needed to be broken before the entire dinner was a loss, she picked her fork back up and poised it over his side of the basket as she cleared her throat. “Now, if it meets with your approval, I think we should see how the other half lives!” She stabbed the fork into one of his chips and put it into her mouth, chewing exaggeratedly and making enthusiastic humming noises. “I suppose the chef knows best!”

Caught by surprise, the Doctor barked a startled laugh at her antics before mimicking her and stuffing one of her vinegar drenched chips into his own mouth. His faced puckered like he’d swallowed a lemon, his eyes crinkling up. “Ugh! How can you _stand_ that?”

Her gigging was interrupted by her mobile chirping. Wondering who could be texting her now, she checked her messages. Her eyebrows lifted when she saw it was from Jack again.

**I really hate to break you two up, but the Doctor better get his gorgeous behind back to the restaurant. The girls can’t handle the orders and front of house at the same time.**

Rose checked her watch and gaped. The time had flown by and it was well into the dinner hour. “Doctor, Jack’s in a panic,” she said, stuffing her mobile back in her purse. “You’re late!”

He checked the time on his own silver pocket watch and his eyes bulged. He shoved a handful of the apple chips in his mouth and stood up from the booth, holding out a hand to help Rose from her seat. “Come on, Rose!” he said, after swallowing his mouthful. “Run!”

She wasn’t sure why _she_ had to run back with him, after all, she wasn’t needed at the restaurant, but maybe that hadn’t occurred to him. No matter the reason, she was happy to have her hand in his, slightly sticky from the apple chips, as they ran side by side down the street.

They took turns swinging each other around the corners, shouting “Excuse me!” and “Pardon us!” to the people they bumped into during their mad dash, slowing abruptly as they hit the final block before Little Gallifrey in a mostly vain attempt to catch their breath. They speedily walked the last few steps, nearly skipping in their haste as they finally reached the front of the restaurant. Rose leaned against the adjoining brick wall with her hands on her knees, trying not to block the doorway as she panted for air.

The Doctor made a futile attempt at smoothing his wind-blown hair, only succeeding in making it stand up even more, and tugged his suit straight while shooing Clara back toward the dining room and stepping into his customary place behind the hosting stand. He fought for breath himself as he turned and faced an approaching couple with a wide grin. “Hello, welcome to Little Gallifrey! Table for two, or would you prefer to be seated at our bar this evening?”

Rose waited until he’d led the couple further into the restaurant toward their table, dazzling them with his light airy chatter all the while, before she slipped past and headed for the bar herself. She grabbed a handful of paper napkins from behind the bar and mopped at her face and the back of her neck as she slipped into her (thankfully empty) preferred seat, then managed to catch Jack’s eye. She rolled her own as he swaggered over to her with a shite-eating grin.

“Well, well, well, seems someone ran off with the Doc and came back a little winded! _Please_ tell me I interrupted something when I texted you?” he grinned at her, waggling his eyebrows infuriatingly.

“Yes,” she snapped as her brow furrowed in a frown, “you interrupted a dinner between two very dear friends, because that is _all. We. Are._ ” She glared at Jack, daring him to say anything else. “Now, may I have a tall glass of something cold? Please?” she bit out.

She wasn’t sure why she was suddenly so angry with Jack. Maybe because he’d pointed out something she wasn’t sure she wanted to see, something she wasn’t even sure was really there. The feelings that she was just now discovering she might have for the Doctor were making her edgy, and the suggestion that they might be mutual was just making it worse. Add in the charming ‘secret identity’ angle and when it came right down to it, she felt like she just might burst from sheer nerves.

Jack took a half step back in surprise, a dismayed look on his face. “Rosie? Are you ok?” Every line of her body screamed of tension and discomfort, and he suddenly felt oddly guilty. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to, and he wasn’t quite certain what to do about it.

She crossed her arms on the bar top and dropped her head onto them. She stayed that way for a few moments, just breathing deeply and gathering her thoughts, before she raised her head and looked Jack in the eyes. “Look, I’m sure you mean well, and that you don’t mean to hurt me, but you have to understand… what you think is cute and funny isn’t amusing at all to me.”

She trailed off and shifted her gaze to somewhere over his left shoulder. Jack started to ask what she was talking about, but he caught himself and waited. At length, she sighed.

“Jack, don’t you get it? The more you push and hint and tease about this… whatever you think you see between me and the Doctor, the more awkward you make it for me to be around him.” She sighed and rubbed at her eyes. “I’ve made some pretty shite decisions where men are concerned and I just… his friendship is far too important to me to risk it for some… _thing_ … that might only be in your matchmaking head.” She attempted a smile, but it came out watery and weak. After a few moments she gave up, re-crossed her arms, and let her head drop down on them again.

Jack stepped up to the bar and reached across, rubbing at her shoulder comfortingly. “I’m sorry, Rosie, I wasn’t thinking about it from that angle. I just… I see two people I care about, who really seem to care about each other, and I just want everyone to be happy.” He finished off with a pat to her upper arm. “I’ll bring you something cold to drink and maybe a wet cloth, and I promise not to mention it again.” He turned to leave the bar area, then called back over his shoulder with a smile, “At least, not for the next two days!”

Rose laughed quietly into her arms and tried to relax.

The Doctor cornered Jack on his way to the kitchen for a hand towel, frowning. “Jack, what’s the matter with Rose?” he asked, tilting his head at their favorite patron, who was slumped over the bar.

“Oh, uh, she’s tired,” said Jack, knowing it sounded a bit lame. He wasn’t sure if he should say anything after what Rose told him, and wasn’t used to censoring himself. Even so, he couldn’t help but ask, “What was it you two were doing?”

“We were having chips a few blocks away when you texted her, saying I had to get back. We ran all the way here.” He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Speaking of, how is it _you_ have her mobile number?”

Jack lifted an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

The Doctor glanced away, rubbing at his eye. “No reason,” he said. “Just… wondering.”

Jack grinned. “I’m friends with her, too, Doctor, you don’t get a monopoly on Rose.”

“I know that!” he snapped. He cleared his throat, lowering his voice. “Just… keep an eye on her, will you? We’ll get cited if it looks like she’s sleeping at the bar.”

He gave the Doctor a smart salute and continued into the kitchen where he grabbed a hand towel and wetted it with cool water at the sink before returning to Rose. He stopped beside her chair, placing a gentle hand on her back to avoid startling her. She lifted her head slightly and smiled as he offered the cloth to her.

“Thanks, Jack,” she said, sitting up and placing it on the back of her neck.

“No problem. Are you gonna be okay? Because you can’t look like you’re sleeping at the bar.”

She nodded. “I’m fine, I just needed a minute to rest.” Mostly, she felt more emotionally drained than physically. A short run wasn’t too out of the ordinary for her, but talking about her family, and to the Doctor, was completely new. And she still didn’t know what to do about the connection she felt to him. “Honestly, I think I’ll head home. I’ve still got work to do.”

“But you’re coming back tomorrow, right?” he asked, inclining his chin.

She smiled. “You make it sound like the restaurant won’t run without me. Maybe I should ask the Doctor to give me a part time job,” she said, cheekily.

Jack chuckled. “Little Gallifrey will still stand, but you are definitely missed when you don’t come by. Not just by me. You’re one of the family here, Rose.”

Playfully, she batted his shoulder, but grinned. She handed him back the towel and hopped off the chair, giving him a little wave. “See you tomorrow.” She smiled at the Doctor as she passed the hosting podium, mouthing ‘Bye!’ over the shoulder of the couple he was about to seat. The corner of his mouth turned up and he gave a little nod.


	3. Chapter 3

Beginning of day was always a little slow, but it never took long for them to get into the swing of things. The Doctor always arrived first with the kitchen staff, even though he didn’t have to, because it was his restaurant. He felt it was his duty to oversee everything that happened, from open to close. He signed for the daily delivery of fresh fruit and vegetables from their grower and saw that prep for the lunch hour was well underway with the cooks. He checked the status of the clean plates, glasses, and flatware and took inventory in their big walk-in freezer and pantry. All of those notes would go to Romana, who would order new supplies as necessary.

Then, he went out to the front of house where Amy, Clara, and Jack would be just arriving. He helped with preparations there, folding serviettes, wiping down tables, replacing old candles, making sure everything looked clean and ready. He helped Jack inventory their alcohol and refilled the garnish tray, stocked paper drink napkins, and restacked his glasses.

He stood next to his podium at last, hands on his hips, and looked around with a pleased smile on his face. There was nothing like the satisfaction of being ready to face a brand new day of patrons; whether new or regulars, he was happy to see them all. It was one reason why he liked being at the front of house. He loved interacting with the people.

The smile slipped from his face as Donna pushed through the door to the kitchen with a heavy sigh. He could tell from the look on her face that something wasn’t good.

She aimed her thumb over her shoulder. “He’s doing it again.”

“What?” he asked.

“Harry. That bloody awful steak dish. Says he’s ‘improved’ it.” She threw her hands up in the air. “I’m staying out of it this time. He’s all yours.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes, wondering what Harry could have possibly done to help that awful meal be ‘better,’ although he thought that ‘edible’ would be a vast improvement. He strode into the kitchen with Donna close behind. Harry was at the pass, garnishing the filet mignon medallions with something shiny, a manic smile on his face.

He noticed the Doctor standing there and exclaimed, “Voila! I took out the caviar and added twenty-four carat edible gold flecks! What do you think? Great, right?”

The Doctor sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes with one hand and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, Harry, we’re not putting that on the menu, and that’s my final word. I don’t care how you think you’ve ‘improved’ it, we’re not feeding it to anyone.” He paced agitatedly in the small amount of open space available in the kitchen, his short, sharp gestures making his frustration plain as he went on, trying to drive his point home. “I know you mean well, and you’re obviously talented behind a range,” he ignored Donna’s derisive snort, “but it’s like your creations come from a cash register. You’re more concerned about what we can ‘get away’ with charging for a plate than you are about whether people actually feel good about eating it!”

Harry stepped into his path aggressively, stretched himself to his full height and glared at the Doctor. The fact that he still had to look up in order to look the other man in the eye only added to his fury. “You think that just because you own the place, you’re the only one here with a decent palate! Well, I am not just some… some _short order fry cook!”_ The Doctor leaned back a bit, grimacing as Harry’s rant became more and more impassioned and spittle flew from his lips. “I am a highly trained chef! A _master_ of the culinary arts! I damn well deserve some respect around here!”

The Doctor had had his fill. He wiped his face with one hand and pushed Harry a few steps back with the other. “That’s _ENOUGH!”_ He all but bellowed the words, his grip on his temper fraying badly. “I offered you this job because you were the only one who stuck by me in culinary school, when everyone else was telling me my ideas were mad and I’d never own a restaurant.” He bit the words out, trying to remember when Harry had been his friend, all manic glee and promise. “I don’t know what happened, Harry. When did you become so heartless? When did you forget what cooking is supposed to be about?”

Harry sneered at him in disdain. “What cooking’s supposed to be about?” Disgust dripped from his every word. _“‘Cooking’_ is just feeding people, people too stupid to appreciate fine cuisine! People who’d be just as happy with beans on toast and overdone Sunday roast their entire lives!” He reached behind himself and started untying his apron with short, jerky movements as he continued ranting. “I do not _cook_. I create _art_! And the point of being an _artist_ and running a _restaurant_ isn’t to make people _happy_ \--” he viciously hooked his fingers into mocking air quotes, “--it’s to make _money_ and a _name_ for yourself.” He crumpled his apron into a wad and tossed it right at the Doctor, who caught it reflexively.

Setting the apron on the pass, the Doctor raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Harry, please, don’t go away angry--”

“Yeah, just go away!” Donna interjected. She’d stood there biting her tongue through Harry’s entire rant, and if she didn’t speak up now, she thought she might bite the thing off entirely. This argument had been a long time coming, and she wouldn’t let the Doctor back off now, just to salvage Harry’s wounded pride. She ignored the Doctor’s aggrieved look and continued. “I don’t understand why you’ve stuck around this long, you arrogant tosser! Obviously, none of us can do anything well enough to please you!” By now all the shouting had drawn the rest of the staff into the kitchen to see the show, and she gestured to them as she continued to dress him down.”You’re always sneering at Lucy’s desserts and Rory’s presentation on the sides, and the girls are never fast enough to suit you! Don’t think that none of us are aware of the reputation you had before you came here. The Doctor was being _kind_ when he allowed you into his kitchen--”

Harry broke in, even more enraged than before. “Allowed? _Allowed!?_ He did not _allow_ me into his precious kitchen! I came here to help someone I thought was a friend when he was in need!”

By now, the Doctor was making frantic faces at Donna, drawing a hand across his throat repeatedly in what was either meant to be the universal signal to stop talking _right now,_ or a threat to cut off her head. She pretended not to see.

“YES!! Allowed!” she shouted back. “As in, ‘no other eatery in London would _allow_ you to cross the kitchen threshold!’ No one but the Doctor believed you when you said you’d not realized the thermostat was faulty on the chiller where you stored the beef that cost you your reputation! Over fifty people had to go to hospital after that, nearly a hundred more were lucky enough to escape with just a trip to A &E. Sanctuary nearly went out of business altogether because of you!”

Harry stepped toward her with a snarl on his face, his hand drawn back as though he meant to strike her. He stopped in mid-stride as a coldly gleeful look came into his eye, and he lowered his arm as he turned to face the Doctor. “Well, it must not have been all _that_ bad. As I recall, _they_ still got a ringing endorsement from Bad Wolf, even after ‘the disaster.’” He obnoxiously made air quotes with his fingers again. The Doctor flinched as though he’d been struck as Harry’s hateful words hit their mark. “Didn’t they, Doctor? What was it she said?” He waited, staring pointedly at the other man.

Not meeting anyone’s eye, the Doctor cleared his throat and said quietly, “She said that the dining at Sanctuary was so good that not even a brush with the Devil himself could keep her away.”

Harry faked a look of surprise. “Never comes here though, does she? She’s been to every two-bit neighborhood diner and greasy hole in the wall in London, even the ones that could have poisoned her! But never here. Isn’t that… peculiar?” He gasped suddenly, putting a hand to his mouth in a mockery of distress. “Or say, maybe she has been here! _Maybe_ she just didn’t have anything to say about the oh-so-special menu you’re so particular about! _Maybe_ you’ve just been holding me back.” Satisfied that he’d made his point clear, Harry turned on his heel and left the building, pausing only long enough to clear out his locker.

As the back door slammed shut, everyone looked at the Doctor, who was just standing there silently, staring at the floor. He’d made no move to stop Harry from leaving. Donna touched his arm.

“I think maybe I might have gone a bit too far,” she said with a slight wince.

The Doctor shook his head, slowly. “No, everything you said was true.” He sighed and looked up at her, his eyes full of resignation. “Problem is, he’s right, too. Maybe this place really is nothing special.” He waved his hand at the others. “Go home, we’re short a head chef. I’ll have to find a new one before we can open again.”

Dejectedly, he shuffled out to the front of house to tell Jack, Amy, and Clara. The cooks looked at each other, nervously, each of them wondering if this was the beginning of the end for their restaurant.

* * *

Rose was met with a shock as she walked up to Little Gallifrey and pulled on the front door to find it locked. She blinked in surprise and looked down at the little sign that read ‘closed.’ She tilted her head in confusion and checked her watch. It was just after noon, they should have been open for over two hours.

Cupping her hands around her eyes, she looked through the glass to see if anyone was inside and saw Jack sitting at one of the dining tables, slouched in the chair and looking pretty miserable. He looked up when she knocked on the glass and got up to let her in.

“What the hell, Jack?” she asked as he locked the door after her. “You’re closed?”

He ambled back over to the table where there was an empty glass and a half empty bottle of vodka and slumped back into the chair he’d been in. “Yep,” he said, refilling his glass. “Harry had it out with the Doctor this morning and left. Then the Doctor sent everyone home and pulled a runner himself. I stayed to get drunk. Want some?”

“No, ta, a bit early to be hitting the hard stuff for me,” said Rose, sitting down across from him. “But why did he close the restaurant? He could have put Donna on the main range, or even taken over himself and let one of the girls do front of house. They could have apologized for any longer wait times due to the short staff.”

“I know,” said Jack. “He didn’t shut us down because Harry left. We’ve made do before whenever someone got sick. He closed shop because of what Harry _said.”_ He took a swallow of liquor before continuing. “He hit the Doctor where he lived, and told him Little Gallifrey wasn’t even worth being on Bad Wolf’s radar. Killed his confidence with just a few well-aimed words. Now, he says he won’t open again til he finds a new head chef, and who knows how long that’ll take.”

Rose frowned. “Well, I’m not gonna let my favorite place close down,” she said, determined. “Call Romana, it’s time she got involved in this.”

Jack’s eyes brightened a bit. “That might work. She definitely won’t let the Doctor mope around and slack off, all depressed. Or she’ll at least find us a new chef so we can reopen. Of course, there’s another solution.”

“What?”

“You could tell him who Bad Wolf really is.”

Rose let her head droop forward, then looked back up. “Sure, that might get the Doctor out of his funk, or it could make it worse. To know that I’ve been here the whole time, when he’s been whinging on and on about not getting reviewed? He wouldn’t understand my reasons, Jack, and I’d never be able to come back! Is that really what you think would help?”

He made a sour face and took another drink. “I guess not.”

She leaned forward and grabbed the glass out of his hand. “Enough of that. Call Romana while you’re still coherent and give me the Doctor’s address.”

Jack furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“Because someone has to go over there and remind him why he opened this restaurant in the first place. It wasn’t for any stupid review.”

He tilted his head and reached into his pocket for his mobile. “You’re a braver soul than me, to beard him in his den.”

* * *

Rose was a bit nervous as she came to a stop outside the Doctor’s flat in South London. She eyed the blue door, biting her lip, as her stomach swooped. Would she be welcome? They were friends, yes, but they’d never really crossed the barrier between ‘restaurant friends’ and mates that visit each other’s homes. She took a deep breath, telling herself that if anyone was going to get the Doctor out of his funk, it was going to be _her_ and not Bad Wolf.

She knocked and waited. Nothing happened for about a minute, so she knocked again. This time, a dull crash sounded, followed by a muffled curse. A few seconds later, the door opened, revealing a bleary eyed Doctor. He’d removed his pinstriped jacket and floral tie, and his Oxford was unbuttoned and hanging off his frame, revealing his plain white t-shirt underneath. Rose swallowed, utterly unprepared for seeing him so disheveled… and sexy.

With effort, she dragged her gaze to his face, where his dark eyes were dull, his cheeks flushed, and his bottom lip full and wet, as though he’d been biting it. He looked at her in confusion.

“Rose?” he asked, as though unsure if it was really her. “What’re you doin’ here?”

His speech was unsteady and sloppy, so unlike what she was used to from him. He leaned against the doorframe and lifted a bottle filled with dark amber liquid to his lips. There was enough in the bottle that she guessed he wasn’t dead drunk yet, but was well on his way. That is, if this was only his _first_ bottle. All thoughts of his appealing appearance fled in the wake of her growing irritation. She couldn’t believe that he could be so cowardly, to drink away his problems.

“How much of that have you had?” she demanded.

“Not enough,” he said, darkly, going for another swallow, but Rose grabbed it out of his hand. “Oi!” he cried, indignantly.

She ignored his sputtering and pushed past him, giving a cursory look around to find his kitchen. It didn’t take her long to spot the arch leading from his sitting area. She would have liked to slow down and take a better look at his flat, but she was a woman on a mission. She walked right in and turned the bottle over the steel sink, letting the contents glug down the drain.

He followed her, swaying a bit, trying to grab it away from her, but his hands were clumsy and she easily avoided him. “Stop that!” he said. “That’s m’best stuff!”

“Then you shouldn’t be wasting it while you’re in this kind of mood!” she said, firmly. She left the bottle in the sink and grabbed his elbow, frog marching him out of the kitchen and through the living room, down the hall to where she assumed she’d find his bedroom. “Shower,” she ordered, letting go of him.

“But--”

“No ‘buts!’” she said, aiming a finger at his face. “You are going to shower and change and meet me in the kitchen in ten minutes, is that understood?”

With wide eyes, he mutely nodded and turned, heading through an adjoining door. He closed it quietly behind him.

Rose breathed a silent sigh of relief. He’d been too drunk to see through her bluster, and for that she was grateful. When she heard the water in his shower start up, she was satisfied that he was following her directions and left his room to go back into the kitchen. She tossed the empty whiskey bottle into the bin and searched his cupboards. Soon, she had coffee percolating and had fixed him a ham and cheese sandwich from the fixings in his fridge. She sat down at his little kitchen table with a cup of tea while she waited for him to emerge, pondering what she could do to cheer him up.

It was more than ten minutes, but he finally came out of the bedroom in bare feet, jeans, and a light blue ringer t-shirt with ‘Trust Me, I’m A Doctor’ emblazoned on the front. It looked like something Donna might have gotten him for his birthday or Christmas and it brought a little smile to Rose’s face. He was rubbing at his damp hair with a towel, looking way more attractive than he should.

She indicated that he should sit where she’d placed the plate with the sandwich and he did, while she got up and poured him a cup of coffee. “How do you take it?” she asked.

“Just milk,” he said, his mouth full.

“Slow down,” she advised, a bit gentler than before. “I don’t want you honking on me.” She set the mug that read ‘Kiss the Cook’ in front of him and resumed her seat.

He nodded tiredly and continued eating, sipping at the coffee between bites, and finally finished the sandwich a few minutes later. He stood and picked up the plate, carrying it over to the sink and dropping it in with a clatter before returning to the table and sitting back down across from Rose. “I can’t help but notice that you haven’t asked me what’s wrong.”

_“I_ can’t help but notice you haven’t asked me how I knew where you lived,” she returned, a bit cheekily.

“Jack,” they said in unison and smiled at each other, knowing it was the answer to both questions.

“Suppose you think I’m blowing this way out of proportion,” he said, grimly.

She shrugged. “Not my place to judge,” she said, kindly. “I’m here as your friend. It’s a friend’s duty to pick you up and dust you off and get you going again.”

He sagged back in his chair, his adam’s apple jutting out as he dropped his head back and flung his arm over his eyes. “Oh, God, you’ve come to cheer me up! Couldn’t you just have let me drink myself into a stupor?”

Rose’s brow creased slightly. “Not a chance, I didn’t come over just to see the mess you were trying to make of yourself and help you pour yourself down the drain.” She nudged his chair with her foot, jostling him a bit. “Now, come on, shift. Let’s go sit on the sofa and watch some telly or something.” She grinned evilly when he shifted his arm slightly to peer at her. “We can watch the cooking channel!”

He groaned, but got reluctantly to his feet. “We are _not_ watching the cooking channel,” he declared as they made their way into the living room. “I need a new head chef, and the _last_ thing I want is to watch a parade of qualified people who aren’t for hire showing off on telly.” He flopped down on the sofa with a grunt, letting his lanky limbs fall where they would as he stared at Rose moodily.

She sighed and rolled her eyes, clearly not impressed with his display of temper, then walked over to the shelves next to the television. “Fine, then, how about a film?” She ran her fingers across the spines of the DVD cases as she tried to decide what to watch. She wanted something light that they’d both enjoy, but would still hold his attention without letting him wallow in his misery too much. Ah, there it was! Ratatouille! He’d told her before it was his favorite animated film. Perfect!

Grabbing the case, she tossed it over, letting it fall next to him on the sofa. She didn’t know how sober he was and didn’t trust that the plastic box wouldn’t hit him right in the face if she’d thrown it directly at him. “You cue it up, I’ll make us some popcorn. You have some, yeah?”

He nodded, picking up the DVD. “Middle shelf of the pantry.” He looked for a moment like he might complain again, but then sighed and got up, opening the case and removing the disc.

Rose went to the kitchen and took care of their snack. By the time she returned with a large bowl of popcorn, the Doctor was back on the couch, looking at the menu screen. She sat down next to him with a determined smile and the bowl in her lap.

He started the film and Rose settled back, munching on popcorn as the cute story about a chef rat unfolded. It was a film she’d seen a few times before, but that didn’t take away from her enjoyment. The Doctor watched silently for a little while, then made a scoffing noise when the intimidating food critic came on-screen.

“What?” she asked.

“Even a _rat_ can get a review,” he said, dejectedly, gesturing at the telly.

“It’s a cartoon,” she said, incredulously. Did his self-deprecation know no bounds? That he could feel envy for an animated rodent?

“My point remains.”

“Oh, Doctor,” she sighed, shaking her head. “You really shouldn’t let this whole review thing get to you so much. You’re better than that!”

He didn’t say anything, but she saw him clench his jaw, his angry dimple standing out in his cheek. She sighed again and waved the bowl of popcorn under his nose. “How about you eat some popcorn and try not to think about the rat going crazy with the spices being better than you. Because he’s not. I promise.”

“You’re making me feel _so_ much better,” he said, sarcastically, before grabbing a handful of the popcorn.

She smirked, plopping the bowl back in her lap. “That’s my job,” she said.

They resumed watching the film, this time with the Doctor indulging in the snack, which Rose thought could only do him good and serve as a balance for whatever booze he’d consumed. Their hands bumped once as they both reached for more at the same time, and Rose snatched her hand away reflexively, her face heating up. She closed her eyes briefly, mentally berating herself for being stupid. What did it matter if she touched his hand? They’d held hands the other day when they were running. She was acting like it was a big deal and it wasn’t. If it happened again, she decided she wouldn’t be silly about it.

The next time their hands brushed, Rose kept hers where it was, searching for another morsel of popcorn. Then, the Doctor’s pinkie hooked around hers.

Her breath stilled. She didn’t move away, but kept her eyes on the film. After a few seconds, the Doctor’s hand moved again, twining their fingers together over the bowl of popcorn. They were both slick from the butter flavoring, but Rose didn’t care. Her heart was pounding. A few minutes passed and she risked looking at him, giving him a side-eye discreetly.

He was intently watching the film, but his cheeks appeared a bit flushed. She stroked his hand with her thumb and saw his nostrils flare as he took a deep breath. Her mouth suddenly went dry. He was also being affected! Or, at least, he wasn’t completely _un_ affected.

Rose bit her bottom lip. She liked holding his hand, they seemed to fit so well together, but she wondered if she could push things a little further, whether she _should_. She’d told Jack she didn’t want to risk her friendship with the Doctor, but if he was willing… Maybe just a little encouragement, to see what would happen.

She leaned back and to the side, snuggling up to him a bit. He went rigid for a second, then relaxed again. Emboldened, she tilted her head, resting it on his shoulder.

“Rose?” he asked, and instantly she sat straight back up.

“Yeah?” She nearly winced as her voice cracked.

“Do you want a napkin?” he asked.

She blinked at him, then looked down at their hands. “Oh… Yeah.”

“I’ll be right back, then.” He paused the film with his free hand, then let go of her and stood up, going into the kitchen. She heard the sink run and figured he was washing up.

Rose smacked herself in the forehead with her clean hand, mentally calling herself every name she could think of. She set the nearly empty bowl of popcorn on his coffee table as he returned, holding out a paper towel for her. She took it with a grateful smile and began wiping her hands clean of oil while he sat back down.

Even closer to her than before.

She swallowed, her movements with the napkin growing slower, as she noted the warmth of his thigh through their jeans where they were touching. He started the film up again and she tossed the used paper towel into the bowl and sat back.

Against his arm. Which was behind her, along the top the sofa.

Her heart began beating out a samba. Well, she’d wanted to encourage him. She leaned in and this time his arm came around her, resting lightly on her bicep, prompting her to lay her head on his shoulder again. She couldn’t help but smile, enjoying the closeness with him, his freshly showered scent. Maybe he was only seeking comfort, maybe he was just doing this as a friend, but at the moment, she wasn’t bothered. Even if they went right back to their usual routine, she’d at least get to remember today.

A short while later, he leaned down to murmur, close to her ear, “Thank you for this, Rose.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, turning to look at him, drawing in a quick breath when she realized how near his face was to hers. It would take hardly any effort at all to tilt her head up and kiss him. But she couldn’t do that, she couldn’t cross that final line… Could she?

She looked away from his lips, because they were far too pink and tempting, and up into his eyes, trying to find the answer there. In the dim light from the telly, she couldn’t see any brown at all, just fathomless, unreadable black. She wondered what he saw in her expression…

He looked away first, reaching for the remote again and she noticed that the movie was over, the credits rolling. Disappointment rolled through her, but it was to be expected. They were just friends. She kept repeating that to herself, _just friends, just friends…_ It didn’t make her feel any better.

He sighed as he shut off the telly, getting up to take the DVD out of the player. Rose fidgeted with her fingers, guessing that their moment was over, which was just as well. She shouldn’t be expecting anything to happen, no good could come of that. Without the light from the television, she noticed that it had actually gotten dark, the sunlight through the curtains was a dark gold, so she reached over and turned on the lamp next to the sofa.

“I hadn’t realized it was so late,” she said, standing up and stretching her arms.

“Oh,” he said, looking at the windows, like he hadn’t noticed either. He looked at her, the DVD case still in his hands. “Do you have to go?”

Mildly surprised, she said, “No.” Then, with a smile, “Not if you’re still not feeling better.”

“Oh, I’m not,” he said, mournfully, setting the DVD back on the shelf. He turned back toward her, his big brown eyes like the saddest puppy ever. “I’m miserable. See this face, Rose?” he asked, pointing at himself in a circular motion. “This is the face of a right misery.”

She chuckled and grabbed his hand, pulling him out of the room. “All right then, Mr. Misery. Put some shoes on.”

He followed, obediently stopping at the door to slip his feet into his trainers without socks. “Where are we going?”

“Up.”

Leaving his flat, she led him to the door at the end of the hallway marked ‘stairs,’ pushing through and leading him up a flight to another door for roof access. She turned to face him with a smile, then shoved the door open and swung her arm outside. “After you,” she said, with a playful half bow.

He arched his left eyebrow at her and stepped through the doorway onto the roof. The sun was just setting in a gorgeous riot of colors, burning pink and red and orange across the sky. He stepped farther from the door in awe at the sight. When had he ever stopped to just enjoy the view he had? He couldn’t remember. The city below them reflected the light back in a thousand dazzling points. It looked as though each building was burning from within, but without any hint of destruction. It should have filled him with horrified memories of the loss of his family, but instead it was magical.

Rose walked over to his side and just stood, silently watching the sunset with him. As it grew steadily darker, she took his hand and led him toward the center of the roof where an air conditioning unit sat, large enough for them both to have a seat. Finally, when it was fully dark, she leaned in and whispered quietly, “Look up.”

He craned his neck and let his head fall back, staring straight up into the heavens. The moon wouldn’t rise for a little while longer, and the sky for now was black as pitch. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the stars standing out starkly against a dark canvas, sparkling as brightly as a shimmering spray of diamonds against black silk. He had a moment of vertigo, and squeezed Rose’s hand tightly to ground himself.

She spoke again, so quietly he could barely hear her, “Sometimes it feels like everything in life is going against you, and nothing will ever turn out the way you want it to. You feel like every bad thing that could possibly happen is happening to you, like the universe must just… _loathe_ you.” She took a deep breath. “I feel that way sometimes, too. When that happens, I like to come outside and look at the stars. It helps me to remember that in reality, in the whole of this great big universe, I’m so _small_. Just a miniscule speck, clinging to the skin of this tiny little world. It’s silly to think that fate or destiny or the universe is paying any attention to me at all.” She cleared her throat quietly. “It _also_ reminds me that everything is a matter of perspective. The stars that seem so small from here are giants, with their own worlds around them, and possibly other creatures with lives and hopes and dreams of their own.” She turned her head then, and just looked at him for a moment. “Small doesn’t mean unimportant, Doctor. It means you do the very best you can with everything you’ve got. Do you understand?”

He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry as he looked down at the woman at his side, so fragile and perfect in the starlight, but whom he knew to be so beautiful and strong by the light of day. Not marred by her imperfections, but all the more wonderful because of them. He tried to speak, but couldn’t make a sound, so he closed his mouth and just nodded. The stars had left him breathless, but not half as much as she had.

She smiled and bumped her shoulder against his, affectionately. “How do you feel now?”

He nodded again, this time a deeper motion. “Better,” he said, recovering his voice. “Thanks to you.”

Squeezing his hand, she said, “My pleasure.”

A trilling sound cut through the London night, making them both jump. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his mobile, looking at the screen.

“It’s Romana,” he said. “She’s found me a new cook. Says he’ll be in first thing in the morning.” He looked up at Rose, his eyes bright. “Looks like everything’s coming up Doctor.”

She rolled her eyes. “You said that just so you wouldn’t use my name.”

“Am I so transparent?”

“Crystal.”

He stuck out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout and she laughed, then stood up.

“Come on, you,” she said. “You should get to bed. No more playing hooky! I expect my favorite restaurant to be up and running tomorrow!”

He blew out a breath. “I hope so, pending the skills of this new cook Romana found me. So, you’ll be in for lunch as usual?” he asked, standing as well and heading for the stairwell with her, his hands deep in his pockets.

Rose hopped down the first flight. “No, have you forgotten? Tomorrow’s Sunday! That special dinner you promised me?” She paused on the landing, looking back at him and lifting her eyebrows.

“Oh! Yes! No.” He shook his head in an attempt to reign in his thoughts which seemed to be scattered as far as the stars. “I mean, no, I haven’t forgotten, and yes, tomorrow’s Sunday. So, you’ll be by after closing then.”

“That’s the idea.”

They paused outside his door. “I meant what I said, Rose. Thank you. You really are…” For some reason, the words ‘my best friend’ tasted dry in his mouth, evaporating before they could be said. He settled on “One in five billion” with a cheeky grin.

She returned it and closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his neck in a warm hug. For about a second, he was too surprised to react, then put his arms around her waist, squeezing her tight enough to lift her off her feet for a moment. It felt… good. Felt right. A smile wide enough to crinkle his eyes lit his face as she turned her nose into his collar, breathing him in. She giggled when he set her back down, giving another dazzling smile.

“See you tomorrow,” she said, giving him a little wave before heading down the hall toward the exit.

He wiggled his fingers in the air, a contented feeling settling fuzzily in his stomach as she left. When the door closed behind her and he went back inside his flat, the fuzzy feeling contorted into panic. He shoved his fingers through his hair, tugging at it.

What on _Earth_ was he going to cook for her tomorrow?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor cooks for Rose, Rose cooks for the Doctor. Things heat up exponentially.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW.

The next morning, the Doctor arrived at Little Gallifrey unusually early, even for him. He switched on all lights in the kitchen, then stood in the center of the empty space with his hands on his hips and his brow deeply furrowed, trying to calm his racing thoughts. Finally, he stepped into the walk-in refrigerator and began to take a thorough inventory. Normally, he’d be cataloguing what they had versus what they needed for the day’s menu, but he had a different agenda today. His gaze flicked from shelf to shelf as he pondered… What would best appeal to Rose?

He looked over the shelves, everything seeming to blur together. This wasn’t helping. He closed his eyes, breathing out long and slow through his nose, attempting to calm himself. He shouldn’t be panicking, Rose always liked his recipes, but somehow, after last night… He wanted to impress her.

He thought back to the first time she’d tasted his cooking. That plate of chips. A half smile quirked his lips. Opening his eyes, he grabbed fresh catfish and prawns and set them aside for later, then moved into the pantry and began choosing the best heirloom potatoes in gold, red, and purple. He’d make her the most amazing fish and chips she’d ever tasted…

Hearing the back door open and a murmur of voices, he checked his watch. It was time to start prep. And he had a new chef to interview. He set his potatoes in a silver mixing bowl and placed it on a high shelf, then stepped out of the pantry with a smile. Rory, Lucy, and Donna all gave him hopeful expressions, though Lucy looked a bit sad. He made a mental note to talk to her later.

Standing slightly to the side was a baby-faced man with guileless blue eyes and dark hair slicked away from his square forehead. He looked uncertain, but straightened up when he saw the Doctor, coming forward to deliver a firm handshake.

“I’m Ianto Jones,” he said. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

The Doctor frowned slightly. “No, no, none of that ‘sir’ business, this isn’t a military operation or anything. Just the Doctor will do.”

“Got it.” In Ianto’s other hand was a tall paper cup, which he handed over. “Tea,” he said, by way of explanation. “Kind of my thing… I always like to have some on hand.”

Interesting. The Doctor took a cautious sip. His eyebrows raised. “Well, if you cook as well as you make tea, I’d say we’re in business!”

The young man smiled brightly.

The Doctor set him to work, making three of Little Gallifrey’s most popular dishes at the same time, with Donna timing him. While he worked, the Doctor took Lucy aside into the office and asked her if anything was the matter.

She hesitated and gave a few false starts. “I don’t really know how to say this,” she finally said.

He put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Do you need to go home?” he asked, because that was his priority. He couldn’t have a cook that wasn’t ready to work on his team.

“No!” she said at once, then sighed, looking down at the floor. “Harry and I were… sort of seeing each other,” she admitted.

The Doctor blinked in surprise. He’d had no idea and he’d wager no one else did either.

“We haven’t really… called it anything,” she said, awkwardly. “It was a casual thing.”

He closed his eyes to roll them, having the distinct impression that the direction of their ‘relationship’ had been all Harry’s doing, the prat. But he held his tongue and waited for Lucy to finish.

“I just… I don’t know how to feel about this now. With Harry gone. But I don’t want to leave Little Gallifrey! I… I love it here, Doctor, I really do.”

He pressed his lips together in appreciation, admiring not just her work ethic, but her loyalty to the restaurant. “Lucy, the way I see it, as long as you keep making my desserts amazingly, we don’t have a problem. But please come talk to me if you think there might _be_ a problem, all right? I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable here and I want my team all on the same page.”

She nodded, giving him a small smile. He patted her shoulder and let her go back to prep work while he went to check on Ianto’s progress. He seemed to be adapting to the tricky blue stove well enough, though he’d had to throw out the first dish he’d made. After that mistake, however, he was checking his temperatures regularly and handling the multiple dishes adequately. The Doctor could tell that, given a little time to adjust, Ianto would fit right into their kitchen. He was definitely feeling a lot more optimistic that morning.

He advised Donna in an undertone to keep an eye on Lucy as well as Ianto that day, to see if either one appeared to be struggling, though he didn’t say why. It was Lucy’s business whom she chose to associate with in her free time, after all. Then, he exited the kitchen to meet the others for front of house duties. When that business was done, he’d introduce them to their new team member, and when _that_ was done…

Oh, God, he still hadn’t thought of a dessert. And should there be salad beforehand? He swallowed the deep groan he so dearly wanted to heave and tried his best to focus…

* * *

“Doctor, what are you doing?” hissed Clara as she stopped him on the way back to his podium. She shifted the tray full of dishes she was carrying and frowned at him. “I’ve got four more tables than Amy does! Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the help in winning the Tip War, but I’m swamped! You’re usually better at giving us even amounts.”

“Sorry, Clara,” he said, grimacing a bit. “I’m a little--”

“--distracted, yeah, don’t think we haven’t all noticed.” She huffed a sigh. “Just watch it, okay? Unless you want my wait times to get longer!”

She went on her way and the Doctor slumped back over to the hosting podium, resting his elbows on it. He seriously needed to get his head together, or he was going to ruin Rose’s dinner. Something cold touched his cheek and he jerked away, pinwheeling his arms in an attempt to fend off whatever it was.

Jack stood nearby, holding up a glass of water and ice, and doing his best not to laugh his arse off and call any more attention their way. The Doctor let out a breath, letting his shoulders drop and coming back to his station.

“I think you just scared me out of a year’s growth,” he said, glaring at Jack.

“Sorry,” said the bartender, airily. “Wasn’t my intention, I swear. Here.” He handed off the glass. “Drink. You look ready to jump out of your skin. What’s the matter? Are you nervous about the new guy?”

“Ianto? No, haven’t had a complaint all night, I think he’ll be all right.” The Doctor took a long swallow of water, grateful for the cool drink.

“Well, then, what’s your deal?”

He sighed, debating whether or not he should tell Jack. The other man lifted his eyebrows expectantly. “Oh, fine,” the Doctor said, at last. “I’m cooking Rose dinner after hours tonight. To thank her for trying Harry’s awful dish earlier this week and… well, for other things, too. But initially for that.”

Jack stared at him with a wide-eyed frozen expression.

“What?” asked the Doctor, suddenly feeling discomfited. “Jack, what? What is it?” He was getting a bit alarmed; he’d never seen Jack so unamused in all the time since he’d hired the man to run the bar. He was just starting to have uneasy thoughts about the fact that Jack had Rose’s phone number while he himself did not, when Jack broke.

“Finally!” Jack nearly shouted it before remembering where he was at the last moment. A huge smile wreathed his face. The Doctor rocked back on his heels, his eyes wide with surprise.

“What do you mean _‘finally’?”_ he sputtered, but Jack just gave him an even bigger grin and reached over to punch him on the arm. The Doctor pulled his shoulder back and avoided the playful blow. His brows lowered as he stared at Jack in consternation.

Jack’s arm dropped to his side, but his grin didn’t falter. “I mean finally, _you and Rose!_ I’ve been watching you two dance around each other for ages! I was starting to think I’d have to rent a billboard!”

Initially, the Doctor’s glower deepened, but the longer Jack spoke, he merely grew more confused. “Are you saying you think this is a date?” he asked at last.

“I _think_ this is a date?” repeated Jack, incredulously. “Doctor, you’re personally cooking dinner for a gorgeous woman in a private, romantic atmosphere. That’s practically sneaking under her window with a lute and singing, ‘please have intercourse with me!’”

“That’s not a song!” the Doctor scoffed.

“Actually, it is,” said Jack, his face completely serious. “I’ll do a chorus if you like, _ohhhhh_ \--”

The Doctor clapped a hand over Jack’s mouth and marched him back over to the bar with a scowl. “This isn’t a karaoke joint, Jack!” he said in a terse whisper. “And tonight’s dinner is _not_ a date. It’s gratitude.”

“All right, Doctor, if you say so,” said Jack, holding up his hands in surrender. “Just be aware. _You_ may not think it’s a date… but Rose might.”

As Jack turned and went behind the bar, the Doctor’s heart began hammering wildly. What if Jack was right? And why was that thought so exciting? And distressing. He surreptitiously wiped his suddenly damp palms on his trousers as he headed back into the kitchen. It wasn’t too terribly busy; the hosting station could see to itself for a few minutes.

He stepped through the swinging door into a scene of tightly controlled chaos. Rory was at his station, prepping the sides to go with each meal, Lucy was at hers, meticulously crafting a selection of their signature desserts, and Donna was, for the most part, working at the pass. She tasted dishes before they went out to the wait staff and made sure everything was plated correctly, with the occasional foray into Rory’s, Lucy’s, or Ianto’s territory to make sure everything was running smoothly.

“Oi,” she called as she spotted the Doctor, “were you saving those potatoes for something special or was there something wrong with them that managed to escape me?” She straightened from the long wooden table, a small bunch of parsley gripped in her hand as she tore off smaller portions for garnish. “Don’t just stand there, gaping at me like a flounder! Answer the question, Spaceman! Were you saving them or not?”

The Doctor closed his mouth with a snap and swallowed, then cleared his throat. What was wrong with him today? It was just a dinner, for heaven’s sake! His distraction must really be obvious for Donna to be using the nickname she reserved for when his brain was ‘out in space.’ “Er, yes, I was saving them.” His eyes widened as he looked over at the shelf where he’d left the silver bowl. “What-- what-- Where did they go?”

He strode over to the shelves and reached up, patting around as though the bowl had somehow turned invisible since he’d placed it there that morning. “I left them right here! In a mixing bowl! A huge silver _bath_ of a bowl! What happened to them?” He continued to pat at the shelf as he turned awkwardly to glare at Donna over his shoulder when he heard her snort of laughter.

“Oh, don’t be such a Martian, nothing’s ‘happened’ to them,” she said, with a roll of her eyes. “Rory was eyeing them from his station, but I could see you’d set them aside for _some_ reason, so I moved them to your office where they wouldn’t be _disturbed_.” Her natural curiosity reared its head as she leaned against the pass and asked casually, “Saving them for something special, then?” She tried to look as though she didn’t care about the answer, although really she was dying to know why he was being so particular about bloody _potatoes_ , of all things. “We catering a dinner for some Potato King and his starchy minions?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. No Potato Kings here. Well… that I’m aware of.” He squinted at her, making a disgusted face. “And starchy minions? Really?” He shuddered. “Ugh, Donna, for a woman who makes such lovely dishes, you do come up with some of the most revolting images. I’m going to have gray, fatty, blobs of starch with little arms and legs in my head for hours now!”

She crossed her arms. “I know when you’re deflecting, Doctor, you can’t get around me with all your demented babbling. So spill. What’s with the fancy potatoes?”

He straightened his tie and flicked some imaginary lint from his lapel, avoiding her gaze. “Just making dinner for a friend later, that’s all. Doesn’t do to slight a friend when sh-- er… when _they’ve_ done you a favor.” He looked over toward Ianto with a furrowed brow, hoping to draw Donna’s attention to the new cook, but she refused to budge. Her face lit up with a positively evil grin.

“She? When _she’s_ done you a favor?” Her grin got even wider as her mouth dropped open. “Oh my God, Spaceman, are you going on a _date?_ Who is she, have I met her?”

Well aware that he had the attention of everyone in the kitchen now, the Doctor threw his hands in the air. “Oh, for the love of-- You are not my _mother_ , Donna, thank whatever deity is listening for that. I’m not discussing this with you! Or anyone!” he added, giving a dark look at the others, who quickly turned away and hurried to look busy. “I’m saving the potatoes, along with the catfish and prawns in the freezer, and that’s all about this evening that pertains to you. Got it?”

Donna stood there for a moment, looking as though she were torn between getting back to work and continuing with her questions. Finally, she shook her head with a sigh. “You heard himself, back to work everyone.” She turned back to the pass, and the Doctor did his best to ignore the smirk she was barely trying to hide.

For good measure, the Doctor checked to make sure the fish he’d chosen were still where he’d left them and sighed when they were. This evening was becoming more and more nerve wracking as each moment passed.

* * *

The Doctor was just finishing folding the serviette into an elaborate flower and was wondering if it was too cheesy, when a knock at the restaurant’s door sent his stomach swooping into his esophagus. His eyes swept frantically over the table, but the chargers and flatware and glasses were all immaculate. A small loaf of bread, still fresh from the oven, sat in a little basket in the middle of the intimate round table, awaiting the guest of honor. He straightened his suit and hurried to the door, unlocking it and opening it wide.

His breath caught in his throat. Rose was wearing her hair in long, loose waves that the slight evening breeze tousled about her shoulders. She wore a tailored, white button-down top and a short red skirt that matched her shiny heels. He was aware that he was staring, but he really couldn’t help it. She was stunning. The fact that she’d put some effort into her appearance brought Jack’s words back to him, about how this might be a date.

“You look beautiful,” he blurted out finally.

She smiled, her cheeks turning a bit pink. “You gonna invite me in?”

“Oh, right.” He stood aside, holding the door for her and locking it after, because some people ignored ‘closed’ signs if they saw people eating in a restaurant. He bounced around to her side and gave his customary smile. “Welcome to Little Gallifrey. We have a table all ready for you.”

Rose giggled. “Ooh, I’m really getting the VIP treatment tonight.”

“That was the idea,” he said with a grin as he pulled out her chair. When she was settled he bounded off for the kitchen. “Be right back!”

From the oven, he pulled out the stoneware plates that were keeping warm and set them on a wheeled tea tray that was normally just decorative. He wasn’t taking any chances of a rogue wrinkle in the carpet tripping him up. Along with a bottle of vinegar and a wine he’d selected personally, he rolled everything out to the tableside.

Her eyebrows lifted. “Fish and chips?” she said, looking at the plates of breaded fish and prawns and multi-colored fried potatoes he set at each of their places.

He straightened, suddenly worried. “Not special enough?”

She looked up at him, a wide smile on her face. “It’s perfect.”

Pride brought a grin back to his face as he sat down across from her and poured them each a glass of wine before tucking in. Rose particularly liked the purple potatoes, as she hadn’t ever tried them before.

“It’s like food from another planet, almost!” she said with a little giggle. “We could pretend we’re on some distant star, where all the food is purple!”

“I think I’d like that, traveling the universe with you,” he said. “Think of all the new food!”

“Ooh, alien fast food! Can you even imagine? Like, drinks that taste like beef!” She took a sip of her wine around a smile.

“And weird crunchy bits on sticks! Then again, that’s not very alien. That could just be Scotland. Or America. They’ll put _anything_ on a stick and fry it!”

She laughed and tucked a wavy lock of hair behind her ear before leaning forward in her seat to cut off another bite of the fish with her fork. The Doctor struggled not to stare when her tailored blouse tightened a bit across her bosom as she slid the morsel of fish between her full lips and hummed appreciatively.

“I can’t remember the last time I had fish prepared this well.” She licked her lips and reached for her glass of wine, her blouse shifting again in intriguing ways as she gripped the stemware and took a sip. She chuckled softly as she set it back down and said, “Wait, yes, I can. It was the last time I had fish here! But this is even better because you made it.” She glanced at him from beneath her lashes before going for another bite.

He reached for his own glass, his mouth suddenly too dry to swallow the bite he’d been chewing. For all that he’d said and insisted that tonight’s dinner wasn’t a date, he found himself suddenly hoping that it was and thinking more and more that he hoped she did as well, and why hadn’t they had a date before now? It seemed a grievous oversight.

“Try-- try the prawns!” He definitely hadn’t squeaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Um, you haven’t tried your prawns yet.”

“You know that’s just a fancy word for ‘shrimp,’ Doctor,” she said, picking one up all the same with the tips of her fingers and biting the juicy meat from the tail, discarding the leftover bit on her plate.

“Prawns are bigger than shrimp,” he said, trying out one of his own.

She smirked. “So, you’re saying that size matters?” she asked, teasingly catching her tongue in her teeth.

Like a bolt of lightning, it hit him. All the teasing Rose did… She was _flirting_ with him! He decided two could play at this game. “Well, you know what they say about size of a man’s feet.” Rose nearly choked on her bite of chips. The Doctor beamed broadly, hoping for that reaction. “It means he’s a good dancer. Honestly, Rose, what did you _think_ I meant?”

Her eyes widened momentarily in surprise, then she grinned at him wickedly. “And are you much of a _dancer_ , then, Doctor?” She couldn’t believe he was responding to her flirtation, instead of pretending not to notice and scampering back to the kitchen.

“Well, I’ve got the moves, but I wouldn’t want to boast. The music doesn’t seem to flow as well with just one dancer anyway.” The innuendo was becoming so broad it was all he could do not to blush. He sat back in his chair, lifting his eyebrows at his dinner companion, as he brazened his way through this tricky new territory.

“Better with two?” Rose replied without quite thinking it through, then swiftly snatched up her wine glass and tried to hide her face behind it as she struggled with her own blush.

The warmth beginning to snake through him spiked as he watched her lick her lips, savouring the flavor of the crisp wine he’d selected. “Oh, yes,” he said, his voice gone low and husky.

Meaningful glances across the table continued to be exchanged frequently as they enjoyed the remainder of their meal, punctuated with the occasional flirty comment. Their fingers kept brushing together as they reached into the bread basket to tear off pieces of the small loaf, and Rose was reminded of the popcorn they’d shared the other night. Just as she thought she was going to burst from the tension, they finally finished their portions and each leaned back with a soft sigh.

“My God, I think that may have been the best dinner I’ve ever had, and that includes the meals I’ve eaten here!” Rose exclaimed with a fond smile. “Food just simply tastes better when you’re behind the stove.”

“I hope you saved room for dessert,” he said, setting his napkin beside his place as he stood to pick up their empty plates.

“I hope so, you made it, I’m not missing it.” She stood as well, picking up her handbag and stepping away from the table in the other direction. “If you’re getting something else from the kitchen, d’you mind if I take a moment to freshen up?”

He paused, a plate in each hand. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, thinking of the implications of the statement. _Definitely a date,_ he thought. _What other reason could she have for wanting to check her appearance now?_ The rational side of him whispered back, _She could just need to use the loo, you idiot._ Mentally, he pummelled his rational thought into a dark corner. _Hush, you. This_ is _a date._

Out loud, he said, “Yes, of course, you know where the ladies’ is.”

He turned to the tea tray and loaded it with the plates, then pushed it into the kitchen. Out of her sight, he took the opportunity to grab a small towel and wipe his sweaty hands, then seized a shiny copper pot and held it up to check his hair and make sure he didn’t have any pepper in his teeth. He ran to the refrigerator and grabbed some of the fresh mint, tearing off a sprig and eating it, then he took the piping bag he’d filled with the chocolate mousse he’d made earlier and the bottle of chocolate sauce and went to Lucy’s dessert station. Taking two martini glasses, he swirled them with the sauce, then piped a fancy curl of mousse over it with the icing bag. Simple, but elegant.

Not bothering with the tea tray this time, he took a deep breath and exited the kitchen. He smiled, seeing that Rose was already back at the table, her hair looking a bit fluffier and her lipstick reapplied. And didn’t that just send his imagination racing to scenarios where it would get all rubbed away again… He cleared his throat and hastily sat down, grateful for the tablecloth that hid his sudden reaction to the mental picture.

“Voila,” he said, presenting her with the glass. “Mousse au chocolat.”

She chuckled softly. “I guess it wouldn’t be you if there wasn’t some random French thrown in somewhere.” She tried a bite of the creamy dessert, then smacked her lips and squinted at it. “You over-whipped this, didn’t you?”

He blinked. “What? No!” He took a bite from his own glass of mousse, running his tongue over the roof of his mouthy thoughtfully. “Maybe…” he said, sheepishly. “It’s a bit--”

“--grainy, yeah.” She grinned and took his hand. “Come on, I’ll show you how to really make this.”

In shock, he let her pull him out of his chair and into the kitchen. She went right to the blue stove and turned a burner on low. “I need a double boiler,” she said, then headed for the pantry.

Unsure of what else to do, the Doctor followed her instructions and fetched a double boiler, putting water in the bottom portion and setting it on the low heat. Rose came back out of the pantry, holding a small bowl of raspberries and he grinned, knowing at once that this would be no simple chocolate mousse. She gave him the bowl.

“Food processor,” she said. “I want it smooth and then strained for seeds. Think you can handle that?” She tucked her tongue into the corner of her smile. Suddenly, the warmth he was feeling had very little to do with the stove he was standing next to.

Giving her a cocky grin, he ambled over to the food processor, tossing over his shoulder a cheeky, “Yes, chef!”

While he saw to the fruit, Rose warmed some heavy cream in the double boiler, then added chunks of dark chocolate and began stirring, watching the mixture with a careful eye and occasionally adjusting the temperature on the stove. He observed her, amazed, as it had taken Ianto a few hours to learn the quirks of the antique device, whereas she handled it like she’d been born to do it. His jaw dropped when he saw her actually reach out and stroke the vent hood.

“Did you just… _stroke_ my stove?” he asked, reaching for a strainer.

She grinned over her shoulder. “Had one just like this growing up,” she said. “Took a little getting used to, til you learn her tricks. Really, all she needs is a little love and a lot of understanding.”

“Her?” he repeated, almost snorting.

“Well, you have to admit,” she said, giving him a half-lidded look that made him swallow hard. “A tricky stove is a lot like a woman. You have to know what buttons to press to get her to heat up just right.”

The Doctor stared at her in a daze, mouth partly open, utterly forgetting that he was holding a food processor container in his hand. Utterly forgetting _everything_ but the woman in front of him. She lifted her eyebrows.

“You gonna strain those berries for me, or what?”

“Oh.” He looked down. “Right.” He considered himself lucky that he hadn’t dropped the blessed thing after what she’d just said. He turned to the counter and got to work, clearing his throat, wishing he could clear his head as easily. He strained the pureed raspberries back into the bowl and returned to her side for further instructions.

“Good,” she said. “Now stir in two tablespoons of white sugar and the same of orange liqueur, and then I want you to take over stirring.”

He did as she asked, then came up behind her to switch places, reaching around to take charge of the wooden spoon. He froze as she scooted out from in front of him, her bum brushing along the front of his trousers. She didn’t seem to notice the momentary hitch in his breathing as she added a teaspoon of the sauce he’d made to the chocolate mixture. He shifted closer to the stove surreptitiously to hide his sudden reaction and hoped she’d keep busy long enough for it to subside. What an embarrassment that would be, if she caught him pitching a tent!

She bypassed the automatic mixer and picked up a hand mixer, beginning to whip more heavy cream. Ah, so _that_ was her secret to not over-beating the cream. Sometimes he forgot that fancier appliances didn’t necessarily mean better work. Once the chocolate was all melted, she told him to put the saucepan into the blast chiller to get it down to lukewarm, and to check it constantly. Too cold and it would harden, too hot and the cream she was beating would separate. He couldn’t help but admire her, she really knew was she was doing.

The chocolate was ready by the time her cream was rising in soft peaks. He brought out the pan and transferred the contents to a large bowl, where she folded in the whipped cream a little at a time until no streaks remained.

She scraped the last bit of cream into the bowl and caught the drip with her finger. She held it up with a grin. “Waste not!” she said.

Without even thinking about it, he leaned forward and licked the whipped cream from her finger. It wasn’t until he saw her shocked expression that he realized what he’d done. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out as he looked from her to the bowl of dessert and back. What could he say? _Beg your pardon, Rose, your finger looked delicious?_ There didn’t appear to be a way of explaining himself that wouldn’t make him sound utterly daft.

Suddenly, a spark of challenge litup her eyes and she grabbed his hand, dunking his index finger into the chocolate, then bringing it to her lips. Her tongue swirled around the single digit and all hope of willing away his half-hard erection flew out the window. He was instantly and irrevocably at full mast as she moaned around his finger, releasing it with a wet pop.

“It’s so silky,” she said, her eyes darkened to a rich caramel. “You should try it.”

The little minx. She knew exactly was she was doing to him. Without waiting to think about it, he dipped the first finger of his other hand into the mousse and smeared it along her neck. Grabbing her hips, holding his chocolatey fingers away from her, he pulled her in close and licked away the sweet dessert, but lingered still, nibbling along her sensitive skin. She whimpered softly when he found a spot below her ear, a sound that went straight to his groin. This was getting out of hand… No, it was _already_ out of hand. He should say something before they couldn’t go back from this.

He leaned back. “Rose--”

She grabbed him around his neck and pulled him down to her lips, kissing him hard, slipping her tongue into his mouth. She tasted like raspberry scented chocolate. He groaned, holding her closer, letting her mold herself along his body, no longer caring that she would know how much he wanted her. It would appear she wanted him just as much and was done playing games. He really shouldn’t have been so surprised at the fierce arousal that burned through him. It was clear that this moment had been building for a while. He wasn’t even really sure how long.

He backed her up against the pass and hoisted her onto the edge. The long wooden table was the perfect height. He grasped her knees and pressed her legs apart to fit himself between them, another surge of heat flooding him as he watched the way it made her skirt ride up, revealing more of her long, amazing legs. His hands went to the buttons of her tailored shirt, not even caring if there was still mousse on his fingers, as he found her mouth with his again. He fumbled as she sucked on his tongue, and his cock twitched as he imagined her doing the same, but lower, much lower.

“Want you,” he said, his raspy voice practically a growl, as he finally got the last of the buttons undone, wrenching her shirt open to bare her satin covered breasts to his heated gaze.

“Yes,” she said on an exhale of breath as he cupped them, lifting them, bringing his mouth to the creamy swells and teasing them with lips and teeth. She twined her fingers through the hair at the back of his head as he tugged her bra down far enough to free her nipples, gasping as he took them each in his mouth in turn.

He curled his tongue around the tight buds like they were the sweetest chocolate. While his mouth was busy, his hands moved lower, pushing her skirt higher and finding drenched silky knickers. They both moaned as he stroked her through the fabric with his thumb. His mind whirled, imagining how hot and wet and _good_ she would feel when she was wrapped around him. He wanted to taste her, desperately wanted it, his sensitive palate watering at the thought, but he couldn’t wait any longer to have her. He needed her _now_.

He pulled back enough to reach into his jacket for his wallet. After the chips incident where he’d been without money to pay, he’d stopped leaving the thing in his locker and carried it with him. He thanked every deity he didn’t really believe in that he had it on him now, because he didn’t want to leave Rose for a second. He retrieved the emergency condom he kept tucked within the billfold (just in case), then tossed the wallet aside and ripped off his jacket. He felt as warm as if every burner in the kitchen was going full blast.

Rose wasn’t idle during all this as she made short work of his belt and trouser fastenings, her tongue tucked between her teeth. While he let the trousers fall and worked on getting out of his pants, she shimmied out of her knickers. She barely had one leg out by the time he’d rolled the condom over himself and was back, rutting against her slick heat. Rose forgot about the knickers, letting them hang off of one ankle as she leaned back on one hand, her other going around his neck.

He knew he should go slower, that they should take their time and enjoy one another, but everything within him was saying to take her _now, now, fast, hard,_ and it was difficult to argue when she was so wet, he slid inside with hardly any resistance at all. Her cry hitched in her throat as her muscles tightened around him and he groaned, his eyes squeezing shut. She was still so _tight_.

“Fuck, Rose,” he whispered, grabbing her hips, burying himself as deeply as he could. She bucked against him, calling out brokenly as her breath came faster. He looked up at her, at the long column of her neck as her head was thrown back, her long softly curled hair brushing the table behind her. “God, you’re gorgeous…”

He couldn’t wait any longer, not when he needed to move or else spontaneously combust. Her legs came up and around him, locking at the small of his back as he withdrew, like she wanted to hold him within. The pace he set was fast, almost punishing, but it felt far too amazing to be considered punishment.

“Yeah? Good?” he panted, only managing low, quick, raspy syllables as he slammed into her again and again. He didn’t even know where this side of him was coming from, this dark, cocky bastard who _knew_ it was bloody good, he just wanted to hear her say it. “Tell me, Rose!” he demanded.

“Oh, _God_ , fuck, _yes!”_ she cried, her voice jouncing along with her breasts as they moved together.

A smug half-smile quirked his mouth and he slowed his pace slightly, giving her longer, languorous strokes, to get her to moan, to beg. More erotic sounds and husky filth poured from her lips, encouraging him, pleading with him to go faster, her high pitched keening letting him know how close she was, which was brilliant, because he didn’t know how much longer he could hold out. He resumed his quick thrusts and she fairly sobbed in pleasure.

The kitchen echoed with Rose’s cries, the sounds of skin slapping skin, of him grunting with the effort of how fast they moved together. He gripped the edge of the pass and used it to thrust even harder, and was rewarded by her back arching up, a long, loud, ecstatic wail tearing from her. The spasmodic clenching around him tipped the Doctor over into his own orgasm with a deep groan. He leaned over her, sinking his teeth into her left breast, as his cock jerked and twitched with each hot spurt of his come inside her.

When the stars receded from the black behind his eyelids, he realized that Rose was now lying flat on her back on the pass, her legs dangling off the side, and he was collapsed on top of her. He really didn’t want to move, his cheek pillowed against her bosom, feeling the rapid thump of her heart, but he knew she couldn’t be very comfortable and that he should take care of the condom before he softened too much.

Carefully, he withdrew from her as he straightened up. Rose whimpered softly, but other than that, didn’t move. He eased the latex from his sensitive length, then pulled up his pants and trousers. He left the belt hanging for the moment while he binned the used condom and found a hand towel for Rose.

A smile quirked his lips as he looked at her lying there, her skirt around her waist, her light blue knickers hanging off one foot, her shirt open and her breasts spilling over the top of her bra. She looked well and truly ravished and male pride swelled his chest. That dark part of him lifted its head and growled, leaving him a bit confused in the wake of their shag. He’d never experienced anything like that before, such a strong feeling of possession. The urge to take her and mark her as his own.

Setting the small towel at her side, he moved around the pass and leaned down on his elbows on either side of her head, giving her an upside down kiss. She purred appreciatively, going from lethargic to enthusiastic in the space of a few seconds, but the smile she gave him when he pulled back was still sleepy.

“Hello,” she said, cheekily.

“Hello,” he returned with a smile of his own.

“That escalated quickly.”

“No, that’s the natural progression. You say hello, I say hello.”

She giggled. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

He reached for the towel and held it up so she could see it, unsure how to broach the subject without it being awkward.

“Mm, thanks.”

She grabbed it and sat up and he went searching for his wallet and jacket while she took care of tidying herself. When he returned, she had her skirt and knickers sorted and was buttoning her shirt. He was sad to see her breasts disappear along with her white satin bra, but he was able to catch a glimpse of the red mark he’d left along one swell before she’d finished the buttons. He bit his full lower lip, suppressing a feral grin, remembering the force of the orgasm that had prompted the action. He hoped she’d remember as well, when she looked at it later.

She looked up, smiling a bit shyly, as he came over and gently cupped her face, sliding his hands back into her soft hair as he leaned down to kiss her again. He withdrew, angled the other way, and returned, sharing kiss after kiss, thinking he’d never get enough.

“Why did it take us so long to get here?” he asked, nuzzling her nose with his. He pulled back, stroking the apples of her cheeks with his thumbs as he looked into her eyes, catching tiny flecks of green that he hadn’t even noticed before. “I guess I was so caught up in the restaurant and Bad Wolf, that I never saw what was right in front of me.”

Her gaze flickered for a second and she looked down. “Is this where things get weird?” she asked.

He frowned slightly, but was far too happy to let it remain long. He shook his head. “Not if we don’t let it.”

“Are you sure that’s possible? I mean, this changes everything.”

He tilted her chin up. “Well, yeah, but… good changes, I think.”

She bit her lower lip. “I hope you still think that in the morning.”

“What, you think I’m going to have regrets?”

She blushed. “We _did_ just shag in your kitchen, Doctor.”

He winced slightly. “That’s a good point. I’ll probably never be able to come back in here without getting a knob-on.” She giggled and he grinned. “Rose, I promise. I could never regret this. This evening with you…” He trailed off, his mouth open, unable to truly put it into words.

“One in five billion?” she guessed, catching her tongue in her teeth.

“More. _Much_ more,” he insisted. “It was… eye-opening. An inspiration.”

She reached up, touching his cheek, and he leaned into her hand, turning to press a kiss to her palm. “I wish this night didn’t have to end,” she said, her eyes betraying a hint of sadness. “It’s been so perfect.”

“We’ll have more nights,” he vowed, but she didn’t answer that, just lifted herself up on her toes to kiss him.

Eventually, he let her go. It was already extremely late and he still had to clean up the kitchen so it was ready for prep in the morning. They lingered in the doorway to the restaurant, kissing and holding one another, for at least twenty more minutes before Rose finally started heading off. She walked backwards down the dark pavement, the streetlight setting her hair aglow. She lifted her hand in farewell and he did the same, a smile lingering on his lips.

When she turned and began walking away in earnest, he slipped back inside the restaurant. His heart was still racing, feeling too big for his chest as it swelled with happiness. It felt like… the beginning. The start of an all new and amazing chapter in his life. Just like when he started Little Gallifrey. Rose was going to be just as big, changing his life in ways he couldn’t wait to discover.

Since he was alone, he jumped up and high-fived the door of the restaurant, the little bell there chiming as if to punctuate his enthusiasm.

He returned to the kitchen. The hand towel on the pass caught his eye. He swallowed, feeling his cock start to thicken again, despite having come so recently. He reached down to readjust himself. He might have to start carrying a menu around with him to hide behind for a while.

Looking over at the stove, he saw that their dessert was still sitting there. He grabbed a clean martini glass and spoon from the plating area and drizzled the raspberry-orange sauce in the container, then followed it with a scoop of the mousse.

When he tasted it, he remembered warm skin, soft lips, and tight, wet, secret places. He groaned, both at the memory and the flavor.


	5. Chapter 5

The Doctor didn’t think much of it when Rose didn’t come in the next day. He thought perhaps she needed a little time to come to terms with the change in their relationship, or was feeling nervous or awkward about seeing him again. He looked forward to showing her there was nothing to be afraid of, that they had just become closer.

It irritated him that he still didn’t have her phone number or else he’d have called her up and told her. Jack had stubbornly refused to give it to him, saying it was _her_ number and she could give it to the Doctor if she wanted. It wasn’t his fault that he’d neglected to ask for it… Well, not entirely. Rose seemed to make all his common sense fly right out of his head. He’d had more important things to think about than phone numbers, after all.

But on the second day and still no Rose, he grew worried. She’d never been gone two days in a row before, and since she’d disappeared right after their evening together, it only made him more agitated.

At the end of the day, where he’d barely managed to concentrate on the restaurant’s business, he stalked over to the bar and draped himself over it, leaning heavily on his elbows. Jack could probably see the desperation in his expression, but he didn’t care.

“I need her number, Jack,” he said. “She hasn’t been in for two days! I’m not above begging at this point. At least call her _for_ me.”

He thought that Jack would tease him, or at least cash in on the begging, but the other man just looked up at him with sadness in his deep blue eyes.

“So, you haven’t seen the food section of the paper, then?” he asked, but it sounded like he already knew the answer.

The Doctor furrowed his brow, straightening up slightly from his hunched position. “No, it was missing when I opened it--” Jack pulled the aforementioned section of newspaper out from under the bar. The Doctor glared at him and snatched it out of his hand. “Ah. Any particular reason for the subterfuge?”

Jack just shook his head. “Read your favorite column. You’ll understand.”

He walked out from behind the bar and headed for the kitchen. Thoroughly confused, the Doctor took a seat and opened the paper up to Bad Wolf’s latest review.

_“Dear readers and fellow food lovers,_

_“I have been selfish with you. Because out of all my reviews, I have kept my favorite restaurant all to myself, a secret. I hope you and the proprietors of the establishment will eventually forgive me, because no one should ever miss out on tasting what Little Gallifrey has to offer.”_

The Doctor’s eyes boggled. Bad Wolf had been here? When? How had he missed such a momentous occasion? He read on as quickly as he could.

_“At first glance, the restaurant is not much to look at. Their cheesy slogans painted on the windows and red and orange checked table covers are nothing short of an eye-sore and would turn most discerning patrons away. The plastic covered menus smack of a greasy diner and the drippy candles in empty wine bottles lead one to think of stereotypical Italian restaurants. In fact, the whole place could be an example of bad cliches, right down to the parsley garnish. But there is much to be found beyond the appearance of Little Gallifrey. The food speaks louder than the visuals._

_“From the moment I set foot inside, the aromas wafting from the kitchen made me think of home. Of warmth and comfort. At my first taste of a simple plate of chips, I could sense the love and attention to detail that had gone into the dish. And no meal is a disappointment. I’ve tried practically everything they have to offer and, aside from a few personal preferences, I have absolutely nothing negative to say._

_“The menu has changed over the few years I have been a regular diner, becoming more and more ambitious, and it has been a joy to see the food bloom along with the man behind the menu._

_“He’s called the Doctor. And if that sounds like it’s supposed to be impressive, that’s because he is. He’s always working to improve his culinary skills, tinkering with recipes and trying things that might not work, all the in the name of creating the ultimate experience for his guests. He isn’t happy unless he’s making someone else happy. He is devoted to his restaurant and works tirelessly to make sure everything is the best it can be._

_“I was recently allowed the privilege of a private meal at Little Gallifrey, prepared by the Doctor himself.”_

His jaw dropped. There was a sinking feeling in his stomach, but he read on, needing to know the rest of what she had to say.

_“These days, he runs the front of house and leaves the cooking of his recipes to other well-qualified and able chefs, but in the beginning, it was him behind the stove and I was excited to see him back in that role._

_“Seeing the fire and passion in his eyes as he brought me each dish was an inspiration. It was something all chefs should experience. Not just cooking because it’s a job or to make money, but because it is something he loves. Anyone lucky enough to be on the receiving end of that love has my envy. Because that’s what it is, it’s not just food, it’s love. Right there on the plate, little pieces of his heart (not literally, that would just be wrong)._

_“And by keeping my silence, by not sharing with you the wonder that is Little Gallifrey, I have trampled on the Doctor’s heart. Not just once, but over and over, and I regret that more than anything. Rectifying my oversight now is a step in the right direction, but it in no way erases my mistake. No matter my reasons, I should have given him the review he so richly deserved long ago. I am so sorry. The reason I didn’t write this review before and the reason I am writing it now are the same - I believe I am in love with him. I just didn’t realize it for so long.”_

His heart pounded, making him feel short of breath. Combined with the pit in his gut, he thought he might be sick. She loved him? He didn’t know which revelation shocked him more. The fact that Bad Wolf loved him or the fact that _Rose_ was Bad Wolf. She never said her name, but it couldn’t be anyone else. She was the only one he’d cooked for in recent days. And now, thinking back on all the reviews he’d read, he could see Rose in the flow of the words, the teasing humor, and the warmth that was her true essence. He continued onto the last two brief paragraphs, gripping the edges of the paper so tightly, it was a wonder it didn’t tear.

_“I won’t be returning to Little Gallifrey. I wouldn’t put either of us through that awkwardness. But I hope that, through this review, with the loss of one patron, he will gain hundreds of new ones. He deserves them._

_“If, by some miracle, my apology is accepted, I hope the Doctor will invite me back to his restaurant someday, my favorite place in all the world.”_

He kept staring at the paper, sightlessly, as her words revolved in his head, hearing them in Rose’s voice. He didn’t realize his vision had become obscured due to the tears that had welled up. He startled as a hand landed on his shoulder and he lowered the paper, rubbing his eyes quickly, to see that Donna and the rest of the restaurant staff had gathered nearby, their faces a mix of worry and sympathy.

Finally, Donna quietly asked, “You all right, Doctor?” It was her hand on his shoulder, and she gave him a light pat.

“You knew?” he asked, his voice tight.

“Just me,” said Jack, from where he stood next to Ianto, hands in his pockets, his head slightly bowed. “I showed the others the article this morning. Rose had begged me not to tell, but I figured… no point in keeping the secret now.”

He stared at them all for a moment, then sat up abruptly. He’d only just started to realize what Rose really meant to him, and there was no way he intended to lose her now. Not after all they’d been to one another, not even after her sin of omission.

He hopped off the chair he was sitting on and shook his head. “No, I’m not all right,” he said, answering Donna’s question and folding the section of newspaper with swift, efficient movements. “There’s a lot that needs fixing before I will be.” He tucked the paper into the inside pocket of his jacket and sniffed as he straightened his tie. “Call Romana, we have some changes to make around here!”

* * *

Rose shuffled out of her bedroom well after noon and plodded into her kitchen to make tea. Her light pink robe flapped around her a bit as she moved, since she hadn’t bothered tying the sash, and her comfortable, baggy sweats dwarfed her body. As she flipped the switch on her electric kettle, she scratched her head, the messy bun she’d tucked her hair into lying askew.

She took down her favorite mug and tea tin, wondering what she should do that day. She’d had to request time off from Sarah Jane at the newspaper ever since her review for the Doctor. She’d lost her appetite, something catastrophic to a food critic. Everything tasted the same and she was almost never hungry. Food had stopped being an adventure and had become fuel, a necessary thing she made herself do a few times a day to keep herself going. She knew she couldn’t write for Bad Wolf in that state. But she had vacation time saved up and if ever there was a ‘rainy day,’ this was it. Or rather, a rainy month, because that’s how long it’d been.

She didn’t want to see her mum again, that was certain. They had been spending a lot more time together during her time off, and at first, it was comforting. Returning to a place where she knew she’d always be accepted and loved. But then, Jackie had started getting a bit too nosy as to why Rose was so miserable and she wasn’t ready to talk about it, not to anyone.

Maybe she should actually go on vacation during her vacation time. Maybe France or Italy would spark some life back into her, make her appetite come back. Croissants in the City of Light, pizza in Naples. She sighed. Not even _that_ sounded appealing. It just sounded like a lot of effort.

She took her tea over to her desk and sat down at her laptop to check her email. She’d gotten a lot better acquainted with the internet over the past few weeks and was suspecting she might have a mild addiction to videos of cute baby animals. Not that she minded, it kept her mind off of… other things.

An email from Sarah Jane caught her attention and she clicked on it.

**Rose,**

**I know this is your time off, but if you’re nearby, could you stop by the office to pick up your mail? It’s been piling up and the postman says he’s going to stop delivering to you if you don’t clear it out.**

Well, at least that would give her something to do. Rose gulped her tea and got up to head for the shower. No need to frighten small children by going out looking like something a cat hid under the fridge.

* * *

Later, dressed in jeans and a soft turquoise hoodie, Rose ambled into the newspaper offices. She waved idly at the people she passed, going through the maze of cubes toward the mailboxes. She was almost there when she heard her name being called and turned to see Sarah Jane sticking her head out of her office, waving her over.

“Good to see you, dear,” said Sarah Jane as Rose entered. “Have a seat.”

She did, not bothering to sit up straight, feeling a little like she’d been called into the principal’s office.

Sarah Jane settled herself behind her desk. “How are you? Enjoying your time off?”

Rose looked up into the dark blue eyes of the older woman and knew there was no point in lying to her. Sarah Jane could see through anyone, it was one of the things that made her an excellent journalist. Rose sighed.

“No, not really,” she said. Rose leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “I’ve lost my appetite. I can’t write while I’m like this, it wouldn’t be fair to any restaurant.” She rested her hand against her forehead. “I don’t know what to do.”

Sarah Jane pressed her lips together, giving Rose a sympathetic look. “Can I assume this malady has something to do with the last assignment you turned in?”

Rose sighed and just nodded.

“May I make a suggestion?” asked Sarah Jane, tapping an index finger to her chin. “It seems to me that you might need a little of the hair of the dog that bit you.” At Rose’s confused look, she smiled. “Go back there. Talk to him. Get closure.”

Rose furrowed her brow, unsure if that would help either party involved. But she said, “I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” Sarah Jane sat back in her chair. “That’s all I wanted, to see if you were all right. Thanks for dropping by for your mail, I know what a pain it is.”

“No worries,” said Rose, getting to her feet. “Thanks, Sarah Jane. I’ll… try to have something for you soon.”

She left the office and went to the mailboxes, using her tiny brass key to open the box with her name and pseudonym on it. Sure enough, it was jam-packed with letters, no wonder the postman had said he couldn’t deliver anything. She grabbed the lot and headed for her cube, deciding to go through it right there.

Slouching down into her chair, she flipped through the envelopes and tossed the junk right away. Then she sorted the rest into piles; fan mail, restaurant openings, and invitations. She was often invited to restaurants hoping to receive a review and restaurant openings were always good to write about; since the public hadn’t heard of them yet, it was fresh material without preconceptions.

Then she came upon a letter that didn’t really fit into her categories. The thick square envelope was of heavy, embossed cardstock, and her name, Rose Tyler, not Bad Wolf, was printed in orderly copperplate. When she opened it, she withdrew a deep crimson linen paper with creamy vellum overlaid on top, an invitation to the grand re-opening of Little Gallifrey for that Friday night.

The paper shook in her hand. What was the Doctor thinking? Her mind was a blank. He knew who she was, the name on the envelope proved that. She could only think, _he wants to see me._ Even if she was only one of a hundred invitations, he wanted her there. Surely, that was a hopeful sign.

Or… he could want to rub his new success in her face. She knew that her article had prompted near record newspaper sales, he had to be swamped with business. What was he playing at?

She put her head in her hands. What should she do?

* * *

After fighting with herself all week, deciding to go, then changing her mind, then changing it back, Rose stood on the pavement outside of Little Gallifrey, her heart doing some kind of tango in the vicinity of her throat. She’d donned a new blush colored dress that hugged her curves, a slightly peachy gauze overlay criss-crossed over the whole thing, down to mid-thigh, her matching heels making her legs look impossibly long. She’d been told that clothes gave a woman confidence. She was ready to call whomever had said it a big, fat liar.

She brushed her flat-ironed hair over one shoulder distractedly. She’d let her mother cut it during one of their bonding sessions, so it was a little shorter, ending just below her clavicle. Jackie said it made her look more ‘grown up.’ So, why did she feel like a girl with her first crush?

When she’d walked up to the restaurant, for a moment she was confused, because she thought she’d somehow gotten the wrong place. But a mere month wouldn’t be enough to wipe this restaurant from her memory. She didn’t think a lifetime would be long enough. Even so, the exterior was vastly different from what she’d come to know so well.

The orange and white striped vinyl awning was gone. In its place was a burgundy awning of high quality canvas. The slogans on the windows were also missing and she could see matching dark red curtains framing the windows on the inside, offering an undisturbed glimpse of the interior.

Mustering up as much courage as she could, she stepped up to the door, grasped the brass handle, and pulled. Her tall heels clacked on the dark hardwood floors, the grimy carpet no where to be seen. Instead of drippy wine bottle candles, each table had a small oil lamp and lanterns were set at regular intervals on the walls, giving warm ambience but adequate lighting at the same time. The red and orange checked tablecloths were also gone, and each table featured a floor-length off-white linen. The wall in front of the kitchen had been completely torn down. It was an open kitchen now, allowing the patrons to see directly into the heart of the restaurant, to see the chefs in action.

There were no more dusty strands of ivy stapled to the walls or washed out prints of food in gaudy frames, instead, there were a few simple black frames with pictures of the restaurant staff. The Doctor behind the blue stove, his eyes shut because he was laughing so hard; Donna with her mouth open, shouting orders with a handful of tickets; Amy leaning over Rory’s station to give him a kiss on the nose; Lucy offering a taste of a dessert to Harry; Clara taking a tray full of fancy drinks from Jack; the Doctor and Romana standing in front of Little Gallifrey when it was brand new; there was even one of a new cook, pouring a cup of tea from a copper kettle.

All this was on the periphery, because there was a lone table for two set in the middle of the restaurant, right next to a wide pillar with a framed copy of her article hanging on it. And standing by one of the chairs was the Doctor in a spotless black tuxedo. He looked amazing, from his perfectly tousled hair to his black trainers. His eyes, like molten chocolate, seemed to swallow her. She also couldn’t help but notice that they were the only two in the entire place.

“Welcome to Little Gallifrey,” he said, his voice thick.

Rose’s knees trembled faintly at the sound of his voice, which she’d missed so much. She swallowed, but couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat. He pulled out the chair nearest the kitchen and looked back to her, expectantly, waiting for her to either run away or to go forward.

Somehow, her feet moved and she came to him, sitting in the chair as he scooted it underneath her. His fingers brushed her bare arms before he moved away and it sent a shiver down her spine. He didn’t sit opposite her, as she expected, but instead stood next to the table.

“Would you care to see the wine list?” he asked.

She looked down at her place setting and saw a menu waiting for her, but not the regular plastic coated menu with the lengthy list of dishes. Instead, it was a shorter, more elegant menu, printed on thick, fancy cardstock, with a maroon leather folder. It was buttery smooth in her hands when she picked it up. Brand new.

“Whatever you suggest,” she said, breathlessly.

He nodded with a little smile at the corner of his mouth and turned to go to the bar. Rose swallowed again. What was he up to? She watched him as he walked behind the bar and selected a bottle of wine, trying not to stare at the way his jacket pulled taut across his shoulders when he reached up to the rack for a pair of wine glasses. He cradled the stemware between the long elegant fingers of one large hand and carried the bottle of wine carefully in the other as he came back to the table. He set the glasses down and fished a corkscrew out of one jacket pocket, then deftly uncorked the wine and poured a small amount into one of the glasses and handed it to Rose.

“Does this meet with the lady’s approval?” He watched her as she tasted the wine, a soft look in his eyes as he waited for her to speak. Now that he was finally paying attention, the care she took with everything she tasted was obvious.

Rose herself was having a bit of a difficult time with the wine, struggling to focus on the bouquet and the flavors while trying _not_ to think about how closely the Doctor was standing, or what he might do next. She forced her hand not to tremble as she set the glass back down on the table.

“It’s wonderful, thank you,” she murmured and he dutifully poured her a full glass. “Do you have any recommendations from the menu? I… I trust your judgement.”

He set the bottle down and pulled his reading glasses from his interior jacket pocket, setting them on his nose. Instantly, she blushed. He looked ridiculously sexy in those specs. He stepped behind her chair, leaning down slightly as he gestured over her shoulder toward the menu in front of her.

“I’d recommend the pan fried chicken, with baby carrots and red potatoes in herbed butter, and roasted butternut squash. We just got in a fresh shipment from our grower.”

Rose made a valiant effort not to lean closer to him, feeling his warmth so near. “That does sound good, thank you. And... you’ll be joining me for dinner, yeah?” She glanced up at him through her lashes, her lower lip caught between her teeth in a sudden burst of nervousness. Surely he’d invited her here as… well, as something other than just his favorite food critic. She chastised herself. Of course he had, she was at least there as his friend! The Doctor had never been the least bit spiteful or petty to her in the years that she’s known him, and she was momentarily ashamed for having wondered.

He smirked a little. “I have to cook it first.” He extended his hand to her, a graceful unfurling of fingers. “Would you care to have a front row seat?”

Still unsure, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her up. He tucked her hand into the curve of his elbow, picked up her glass of wine in his other hand, and escorted her into the kitchen where one of the bar chairs had been placed near the blue stove, but not near enough to worry about spills or splashes, should they occur. A little table was standing there as well, with a linen lined basket containing a small loaf of bread.

He helped her into the tall chair and handed her a folded serviette and her glass of wine before stepping into the refrigerator and fetching the butternut squash he’d already peeled and seeded. He’d done the prep on half a dozen dishes in anticipation of her order. He set the temperature on the stove and efficiently cut the vegetable into cubes, putting the pieces in a bowl with olive oil and seasonings. He held the bowl loosely in his hands and tossed the bright orange pieces in the air to coat them evenly, then poured them onto a baking sheet, which he placed in the oven.

Next, he went back to the fridge and retrieved the chicken he’d had soaking in a bowl of buttermilk and egg, then to the pantry for the seasoned breading he’d prepared earlier and the baby carrots and potatoes. She watched him as he got his ingredients together, then asked him if there was any butter for the bread. She smiled as he went back to the refrigerator and added a small cut glass dish of butter to the top of his armload and carried everything over to the stove.

He slid the dish onto the table beside her, then fetched her a spreader and a small plate. She tore off a bite of the bread and spread it with the butter as she tipped her head at the stove and the array of things he’d spread on the counter next to it. “So, what’s next?”

In answer, he took down a large frying pan, twirling it in his hand once, and set it to warm with some olive oil on the range. He cut a lemon in half and squeezed the juice into the pan as well, catching the seeds with one hand. Then, he put two chicken breasts onto the cutting board and used a meat pounder to flatten them a bit before dropping them into the breading, coating them as he did the squash, with a few quick tosses. The chicken sizzled as he placed it in the pan.

She watched him avidly as she continued to tear off bite-sized pieces of bread and nibble at them, washing them down with occasional sips of wine. She’d been in the kitchen when he was cooking before, of course, but it was easy to let his habitual stream of chatter distract her. His unusually quiet focus on his tasks this evening allowed her to focus on the purposeful grace of his movements, even more so than usual. She was also aware of the fact that he kept sending heated glances her way whenever he wasn’t handling a knife, and she knew her cheeks had to be pink from the attention.

He chopped the baby reds into quarters and threw them in the frying pan along with the carrots after turning the chicken breasts over. The one side was nicely browned. He took a glass lid down from a nearby shelf and covered the pan of vegetables, then looked at her and said with a wink, “Now, for my secret technique.”

She lifted her eyebrows in interest, then burst out laughing as he picked up the pan, holding the cover firmly in place with a pot holder, and shook the whole thing vigorously. He grinned at her as he did it.

“This is the same thing I do to tossed salads,” he said, cheekily. He’d obviously had a lot of practice, because he didn’t spill a single drop of oil.

When he decided the vegetables were sufficiently coated and the herbs were evenly distributed, he set the pan back down on the burner and whipped the glass lid off with a flourish and a great puff of steam, setting it aside. He checked on the chicken again, deciding it was at the perfect state of golden brown and delicious, then the tenderness of the potatoes, making sure they were nice and soft, before gently sliding a portion of meat and veg out of the pan and onto a pair of waiting plates to rest before serving. He turned the stove off, then used a pair of pot holders to remove the squash from the oven. He tested the chunks, whose edges had gone golden brown, and decided they were just right. He turned off the oven and used a spoon to add the squash to the plates as well. Finally, he used a hand towel to clean the edges of the plates and turned to Rose with an air of triumph.

“No parsley?” she asked, teasingly.

He shook his head, solemnly. “No, we’ve done away with parsley garnish. Would you like some candied pecans or dried cranberries with your dish?”

She shook her head mock dismay. “Doctor, I would never dare add or take away anything from a plate you prepared for me with your own hands!”

A smile teased at the corners of his mouth. “As the lady says.”

He offered his hand again to help her down, and she took it, sliding off the bar chair and smoothing her skirt with her free hand. He escorted her back out to the table, carrying her glass of wine for her, and assisted her with her chair. He refilled her glass before returning to the kitchen for the plates of their food. Even though she’d seen him prepare everything, there was still something almost magical in the way he set the finished product in front of her. She hadn’t felt so hungry in weeks; her mouth watered and she swallowed thickly.

“Dinner is served,” he said with a smile, taking the seat across from her and pouring his own glass of wine. He picked it up by the stem and held it aloft, she did the same. “To old friends, and new beginnings,” he said softly as they touched the rims of their glasses together.

“Do you mean that?” she couldn’t help but ask. “I mean, really mean it?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked, taking a sip of his wine.

“I basically lied to you for years,” she blurted out, feeling her face heat up. “How can you just forgive that and invite me here and be absolutely wonderful? I don’t deserve this.”

He set down his glass and reached across the table, wiggling his fingers until she took his hand. “First of all, you never lied to me-- no, let me finish,” when she started to interrupt. “You never did. You said that Bad Wolf thought Little Gallifrey didn’t _need_ her praise, and that my food speaks for itself. Was that a lie?”

She shook her head and choked out, “No, of course not, but--”

He squeezed her hand and cut her off. “You’ve been my friend since I started this place, you’ve stood by me through thick and thin, and you helped to pick me back up when Harry, the only person who’s known me longer, knocked me into the dirt then kicked me when I was down.” He looked at the restaurant, at all the changes that had been made in the past month. “I did all this for you, Rose, even though I knew I didn’t have to. You accepted me just as I was, carpet and all. But I wanted to show that you make me better.”

She gave him a tremulous smile through the tears shimmering on her lashes as she croaked out a rusty, “Yeah?”

“Yes,” he stated emphatically with a final squeeze of her fingers, then released her hand and sat back in his chair. “Now, since we’ve established that you’re _still_ my friend and you’re _not_ a liar, shall we eat this fine gourmet meal that I slaved over a hot stove to create?”

Her little smile transformed into an all out beaming grin. “Yes, please!” She picked up her knife and fork and cut a small bite of the chicken, giving an approving hum as the flavor burst over her tongue. She cleared her mouth with another sip of wine. “Is this a new recipe? It doesn’t taste like the fried chicken that was on the menu before. The seasoning’s sharper, and it’s crispier than it used to be.”

“Yep!” he said, joyously popping his ‘p.’ He beamed at her, pleased that she’d noticed, but then of course she had. He was still getting into the habit of remembering that his best friend and his favorite critic were the same person. “Since I trimmed the menu down, we’re able to focus more on the individual dishes and get back to the recipes I originally developed. Previously, we used a pre-blended seasoning mix with a few tweaks and pre-packaged breading for our fried chicken, but we’ve been able to go back to making everything from scratch.”

“It really shows,” she said, after swallowing her mouthful.

“How did you decide to become a food critic?” he asked. The question had been burning in his mind ever since he’d read the article.

“I kind of fell into it,” she admitted, around a bite of the squash. “I was at the park and I overheard my soon-to-be editor talking on her mobile, arranging to meet a client at a restaurant I’d been to. When she’d hung up, I told her she’d be better off going somewhere else. She said that her food writer had given it a stunning review, so I defended my opinion and told her what I thought of the place and my experience with food poisoning there. I doubted very much that her reviewer had even really been to the restaurant. Sarah Jane was so impressed, she called up her writer and sacked him, then called her client back to meet at a different restaurant that I’d recommended, then she gave me her card and asked me to see her at the newspaper if I was interested in a job.”

“But where did you learn so much about food and cooking?” he asked. “I’m guessing that some is just natural talent, but the rest?”

She blushed slightly. “Remember the cooking lessons my mum took? Well, once I got a little older, I started taking them with her. Mother-daughter bonding, you know. I liked it so much that I continued the education. Took some uni classes. Nothing fancy…”

“Nothing fancy?” he repeated. “Rose, that’s an incredibly impressive story! Well done!”

He lifted his glass to her and she smiled, mirroring his gesture, a warm glow settling within her at his praise. “Thank you.”

Conversation was a bit thin after that, in favor of eating their meal, but neither one of them minded. After what the Doctor had said to reassure her of his esteem, Rose’s tension seemed to melt away. It was almost as if no time had passed between them. Finally they laid their forks across the plates, finished.

Rose blotted her lips lightly with her serviette as she leaned back in her chair, replete. “You’ve outdone yourself,” she exclaimed with a smile.

He arched his left eyebrow at her, mischievously. “Dessert?”

“Oh, God, what could possibly top this?”

“Well, it isn’t one of my recipes, I’ll tell you that much.” He got to his feet and trotted back to the kitchen, retrieving the dessert from the fridge.

Her mouth fell open as he set before her a glass of chocolate mousse, swirled with a red sauce. “Is this--?”

“Yes, it is,” he said as he sat back down, grinning. “Our newest item on the menu. I was taught by one of the most knowledgeable people I know. Tell me if I got it right?”

She dipped her spoon into the dessert and brought it to her lips. She made a show of eating it very slowly, squinting her eyes a bit as though pondering the taste very hard, until his face fell and he actually began to look worried. Then she smiled, repeating what she’d said all that time ago when he’d presented her with fish and chips, “It’s perfect.”

After they’d both enjoyed their mousse and finished their wine in a leisurely fashion, she cleared her throat and looked across the table at him. “All right, Doctor, you’ve managed to establish that you don’t think I’m a horrible liar and that you don’t seem to think I have anything to apologize for, so I have to ask… What’s this all about? Not that I’m complaining, but I do have to admit you’ve made me wonder.”

Rather than answer her right away, he stood up, straightened his jacket, and offered his hand again to help her stand up. Curious, she placed her hand in his once more. He led her over to the hosting podium and turned them around. The whole of Little Gallifrey was spread out before them in all its shiny, new splendor.

“You need a lot of things to run a restaurant,” he said, conversationally. “Good kitchen, great recipes, excellent staff, people to feed… But do you know what you need most of all?”

Rose shook her head. The smile he gave her was unspeakably tender.

“You need a hand to hold,” he said, giving hers a squeeze. “What this is all about, Rose Tyler, is me wanting to show you how I will cook for you every day, if you’ll let me. Not here, though. Here, I’m just the host, but for you… I can be a chef again. _Your_ chef.” He inclined his chin, looking deep into her eyes. “If you want.”

She bit her lower lip, looking down at their joined hands before lifting her gaze to his. “And… does you being my chef have any sort of… fringe benefits?”

He trailed the fingers of his free hand over her bare shoulder, his warm eyes darkening. “Oh, yes,” he said in a low voice. He cupped her cheek, tracing his thumb over her soft skin. “For as long as we both shall live.”

That was all Rose needed to hear. She let go of his hand and grabbed the lapels of his jacket, pulling him down for a sweeping kiss. Her nose pressed against his cheek, but she didn’t care, all that mattered was his mouth against hers, his arms going around her waist, holding her so close. Her hands traveled upward, one cradling the back of his neck and the other plunging into his hair. He groaned, tilting his head as he slipped his tongue past her lips, stroking, caressing, devouring the moan that escaped her.

When she began to sinuously move against him, he tore his mouth away. “Not here,” he gasped.

She glanced at the windows, where the curtains were still open. Anyone walking by could look in. Even so, she gave a needy whimper. He leaned in and nibbled her lower lip.

“I know,” he growled. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” she asked as he reached past her and threw the bolt on the front door, then pulled her through the restaurant and kitchen to the back.

“My flat. Well… first, my car, then my flat. Tables and floors are okay for a quick shag, but I want the opportunity to explore my girlfriend properly. In a bed. In private. Possibly several times.”

Rose felt her cheeks heat up. “So, I’m your girlfriend, then, am I?”

He paused, his hand over the master light switch. “Oh, Rose,” he said, his eyes full of love. “You are so much more than that.”

He flicked off the lights and indulged in one more kiss before backing out the door, taking her with him. He knew he’d get an earful from Donna the next day for leaving a mess behind, but he was beyond caring. He had far more important things to concentrate on. Mainly, if Rose’s bra clasped in the front or the back. And that was only the beginning.


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed, your sweet comments are very much appreciated!
> 
> This chapter is NSFW!

“The sugar’s gonna burn!”

“Let it,” he said, shortly, almost stumbling in his haste to get out of his pinstriped trousers. “You can’t wear that dress, then let slip you’re not wearing any knickers, and expect me to concentrate on the proper boiling point of _sugar!”_

Rose wiggled where she sat on the pass, scooting to the edge of the table with a wicked grin. “Can’t blame a girl for getting horny when her boyfriend is standing at the stove, being all _domestic.”_

With a growl, he parted her legs and stood between them, kissing her hard for using the ‘d’ word. He insisted that cooking up new desserts for Rose to try wasn’t domestic, it was romantic. He tugged at the short flared skirt of her blue dress, bunching it up around her waist, fairly purring when he touched her. She was incredibly wet; apparently going knickerless didn’t just turn _him_ on.

He sank to his knees, putting her legs over his shoulders, licking her from bottom to top, then sucking on each labia before delving in deeply, wanting to coat his tongue in her wetness. He’d discovered, after his first time tasting her, that she was his favorite flavor, without a doubt. Something that was just for him, as he didn’t think he’d ever be able to recreate it in a dish. He’d spend hours making her come with his mouth if she’d let him, he could never get enough. Their moans mixed together, an odd high-low harmony.

One of her hands tangled in his hair, tugging at it, and he smiled against her, knowing what she wanted. He slid his first two fingers into her as he drew tight circles around her clit with the tip of his tongue, then sucked on it directly, her cries growing higher and longer. Weaving his head from side to side, he flicked his tongue rapidly, curling his fingers to hit her sweet spot. It was only a few moments before she threw her head back, clutching him tightly to herself as she called out his name passionately. He lapped all around his fingers, licking up as much of her delicious juices as he could, humming appreciatively.

When she’d let go of his hair and her cries had subsided into long heaving breaths, he stood back up, sucking on his fingers for the last of it. She curled a hand around his neck, pulling him down for a deep kiss, while bringing her other hand between them, palming him through his boxer briefs.

Rose suddenly grabbed his hair, but not the usual way. She was tugging him away from her as some screeching alarm began to go off. Confused and not quite thinking clearly, he wondered dimly if the sugar had managed to catch fire, before realizing that he recognized the source of the noise. It wasn’t the smoke alarm. Oh no, it _couldn’t_ be-- But of course, it was.

“OH. MY. GOD!” Donna shrieked from behind him. “I can’t believe you’re doing this in the bleedin’ _kitchen_ , on the flippin _pass!_ That’s disgusting! And, and, and unsanitary!”

He slowly turned around from his placein front of Rose while she tugged her skirt back down, careful to preserve as much of her modesty as possible as he turned to face his friend. “Now, Donna--”

“Don’t you _dare_ ‘now, Donna’ me, Spaceman!” She threw a dramatic hand over her eyes. “AUGH! Watch where you’re waving that thing! Where are you from, Mars?! No one but Rose wants to see that! Bad enough that we’ll have to sterilize the entire place, I don’t want to have to put out my eyes, too!”

He scowled at her because he was still wearing his pants and the tails of his Oxford obscured any bits that might have been visible, plus whatever erection he’d _had_ was thoroughly gone thanks to her. “Oh, now you’re just engaging in theatrics,” he said.

“Better than what you two were _engaging_ in!”

Rose nudged the Doctor forward until she had enough space to hop down off the pass, then jumped lightly to the floor and made sure her skirt wasn’t tucked up anywhere. “I’m so sorry, Donna, I don’t know what we were thinking,” she said, elbowing the Doctor beside her lightly as she heard him start to mutter about _exactly_ what he’d been thinking. “We shouldn’t have gotten so carried away.” Rose shook her head and tilted it to the side as something occurred to her. “Hang on, what are _you_ doing here at this hour?”

Donna huffed, still avoiding looking at them. “I was just coming by to pick something up--” All the color drained from her face suddenly as a set of keys rattled in the lock of the back door. The door swung open and all the color rushed back into her face, leaving it a charming bright pink as Jack’s voice rang out.

“Donna? Are you here already?” Jack asked as he walked into the kitchen, then froze for a moment. He looked from Donna to the Doctor to Rose then back to the Doctor. His grin grew wider and wider as he took in the full scene before him.

“Well, well, well… What have we here?” Jack asked Rose with a cheeky wink. “Is someone taking private cooking lessons?”

“Jack!” snapped the Doctor, “I hardly think this is the time!”

“I dunno, Doc, it looks like it was one hell of a time to me!” Jack eyed Rose’s choice of dress appreciatively. “You clean up nicely, Rosie.”

“Wait, what are _you_ doing here, Jack?” asked Rose, narrowing her eyes at the bartender and the sous chef as they glanced at one another then made a point of looking everywhere _but_ each other. Rose’s jaw dropped. “Oh, my God, _you guys_ were meeting up here, too!”

“That’s not it!” said Donna. “Not like what you’re thinking!”

“She finally took me up on my offer of a drink and all the best booze is here,” said Jack.

“Said he was going to ask Ianto instead if I told him no, one more time,” Donna grumbled.

“Just can’t let someone else feel like they’ve won. You’re such hard work, Donna,” said Jack, but the look in his eyes was fond.

The Doctor began to sputter, but Donna decided she’d had enough. She marched over to the back door of the kitchen and yanked it open the rest of the way, then pointed at the Doctor and Rose. “All right, time to go, you must have some place more comfortable than this to be doing… _that!”_

The Doctor put his hands on his hips, but the effect was somewhat lost as he was only wearing an Oxford and his pants. “Donna, you can hardly order me to leave. This is _my_ restaurant--”

She stomped her foot, hard. “I’m going to call the health board in _two seconds_ if you don’t get out of here right _now!_ OUT, OUT, OUT!”

“But-- but-- my trousers!” he stammered, scrambling to pick them up and sticking one foot into them.

“I SAID, OUT! DON'T MAKE ME CLEANSE IT WITH FIRE!”

Never doubting that Donna would follow through on her threats, the Doctor awkwardly hobbled out of the restaurant with his trousers hanging off of one leg, while Rose scurried behind him, carrying his jacket and her purse. The back door slammed behind them.

“At least take the sugar off the boil!” he shouted, pulling his trousers onto his other leg and fastening them properly. Rose giggled and he turned his frown on her. “Oh, you can laugh all right, she who got us into trouble.” He aimed an accusing finger in the vicinity of her hips. “You and your… no-knickers.”

She cuddled up to him, playing with the open collar of his shirt and smiling. “You love me,” she said, smugly.

He couldn’t help but return her smile then. “Quite right, too,” he said. He leaned down, nuzzling her nose. “With all my heart.” He straightened, looking down at her expectantly. “And you, Rose Tyler?”

“What?” she asked, innocently.

He sighed, put-out. “I tell you I love you and then you say…?”

“You didn’t tell me you loved me. _I_ said you loved me and you said ‘quite right, too.’”

“Are we really going to stand out here in the middle of the night and argue semantics when my car is right here and my flat is around the corner and there is a soft bed waiting for us and you STILL are not wearing any knickers?”

She grinned, tugging him with her as she backed up against his car. “I just love to hear you say it,” she said, pulling him down to kiss him.

“Oh, well, in that case,” he said, against her lips, “Rose Tyler, I love you.” He kissed her again. “I love you.” And again. “I love you…”

“I love you, too, my Doctor,” she whispered, and he groaned, molding himself along her body as he snogged her breathless. He fit himself into the cradle of her hips and rutted against her, quickly on his way to regaining the erection he’d lost courtesy of Donna.

“Come on,” he said, roughly, moving away from her while he still had the presence of mind to do so. “Before we have to deal with the logistics of the two of us in my back seat.” He gave her a dark look as he opened the passenger door for her. “I’ve done the math and trust me, it isn’t pretty.”

Rose grinned, sliding into his well-loved vehicle. “Allons-y, then, Doctor!”


End file.
